


A New Game

by melody1987



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mystery, Slow Burn, Smut, Team Up, kissy cuddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:21:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 97,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8248730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melody1987/pseuds/melody1987
Summary: The game's been going for almost twenty years. Bruce knows the rules, he knows the moves, he knows how it'll end. But when he tries to change the game and someone else starts a new one, Bruce can only hope he learns these rules quickly enough to win.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [A New Game](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12776748) by [Rosa_Mystica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Mystica/pseuds/Rosa_Mystica)



> Bonjour, willkommen, hola and howdy! Welcome to this, the first chapter of my Batjokes story. That's right, Batjokes, because I love these two mad bastards.  
> Firstly, I need to offer my sincerest thanks to frenetic-kinetic, my wonderful beta and inexhaustibly patient listening ear to the many, many, MANY anxieties I've had writing this. Without her, this story probably wouldn't have even made it past chapter 1!
> 
>  
> 
> (This story is currently undergoing a rewrite - I'm five chapters in - and there's no change to the general plot, but the writing and some dialogue will be different and - I hope - much better.)
> 
> So, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: So this chapter now has artwork. If you want to see more (especially Batjokes art) then feel free to check out my art blog on tumblr [mellie-art](http://mellie-art.tumblr.com)

It wasn’t the most original setting for an illicit meeting - an underground parking lot at three in the morning - and it certainly wasn’t the most memorable or dramatic but, luckily, Carl Nisson wasn’t interested in being any of those things. All he cared about was getting the job done. And _on time_ , which, if his watch was anything to go by, was a concern his contact didn’t share.

“You're late.”

His voice didn't betray any anger or irritation, barely showed any emotion at all, in fact, as Carl dropped his cigarette to the ground and squashed it out with his shoe.

The man spoken to - he probably had a name but Carl had never bothered to learn it. He was just a number in a phone book - checked his watch. “You said three.”

“And it's now three minutes past.”

Carl was given a look he didn’t acknowledge and instead asked, “Do you have it?”

The man beside him reached into the inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small envelope.

“You got the money?”

Carl tapped the briefcase on the floor beside him with his foot. “Five hundred thousand, as agreed.” 

The other man reached for it but Carl pushed it back as he clicked his fingers and the envelope was quickly handed over. Carl opened it and pulled out the sheet of paper inside before unfolding it, eyes skimming the two words scribbled onto the page. The other man watched as if expecting some sort of reaction but Carl’s face, like his voice, gave nothing away.

Stuffing the sheet back into the envelope and placing it safely into his pocket, Carl‘s eyes went back to the other man. “Did you read it?”

“Of course.” _Who wouldn't?_ “A shocker, I gotta say.”

Carl nodded but didn't say anything. He didn't really have any feelings on the matter. “Have you told anyone?”

“No. Who'd believe me, anyway?”

“Indeed,” Carl said, picking up the briefcase and finally handing it over. “Don't spend it all at once.”

The other man laughed quietly and with a nod that signalled the meeting was over, Carl let him walk away. He managed three steps before a bullet went through the back of his head.

Carl pulled out his phone and dialled.

“I've got a name,” he said, walking over to the fallen body and picking up the briefcase. He left without a thought for the dead man, knowing a clean up crew was already on its way. He had more important things to deal with now.

“Bruce Wayne.” 

When something very bright cut suddenly through the sleep Bruce hadn't had nearly enough of, something very unintelligible but very, _very_ crude fell out of his mouth and he burrowed his face into the pillow.

  
“I hate to interrupt your beauty sleep, sir, but the gala is in two hours.”  
  
Bruce didn't quite understand at first, made clear by the frown on his face as it emerged from the pillow, hand lifted to block the lamplight still pointed at him, and he had to clear his throat several times before he could finally croak out a, “Huh?”

  
“The charity gala,” Alfred explained. “Hosted by the Wayne Foundation.”

  
Oh, yeah. _That_ . Bruce let out a long groan and his head flopped back down. He hated social functions at the best of times, but after a night on patrol, a full day at the office and only three hours of sleep, Bruce didn’t _want_ to get out of bed. The warm, soft, _comfortable_ bed.  
  
“I’ll lay a suit out for you,” Alfred said and Bruce didn't need to see his face to know there was a grin on it.

  
Bruce would’ve thrown his pillow at him if it wasn't tucked so snugly under his head but, even then, he didn't actually have the energy to move the thing, and for a while he just laid there, stuck in that horrible sort of lethargy that left his mind muggy and aching as he waited for the ability to move to come back to him.

To pass the time he tried to think of excuses he could use to get out of going to the gala. He could feign illness he supposed - food poisoning or a sudden bout of flu, maybe - or simply say he wasn't available. He didn't necessarily need to give a reason. The people who attended these sorts of things weren't really the type to call out someone like Bruce Wayne. But then his brain helpfully reminded him that the gala had been _his_ idea in the first place, a way to raise funds for a charity he had a personal interest in, and if he wanted it to be successful he’d need to be there.

  
And that was what _finally_ managed to drag him out of bed. Shuffling to the bathroom, he could hear whistling next door and although it was too quiet to recognise the tune, the sound still made him smile. Alfred’s whistling was as much a feature of the mansion as the walls, ceilings and furniture. And after answering the call of nature, Bruce was about to make his way to the shower when he saw his reflection in the mirror. He wasn't particularly vain but it scared him sometimes to see how _old_ he looked. He was only forty four, but right then looked far too close to sixty for his liking and he could only hope the shower brought some much-needed life back into his face before he had to brave the outside world.  
  
-

  
“ _And in local news, Arkham Asylum announced the release of Jonathan Crane. Better known as Scarecrow, a figure that’s terrorised Gotham for years, Crane’s release marks the culmination of Arkham’s rehabilitation project introduced a year ago. Spearheaded by Mayor Candace Marshall as part of the election campaign that saw her replacing Sebastian Hady last year, all eyes will now be on both her and Crane to see whether the project_ is _a success_ .”  


The channel was switched over as Bruce walked in and with a yawn that probably should've snapped his jaw in half, he finished dressing.  
  
“I’d offer another cup of coffee,” Alfred said. “But you’ve already downed two.”  
  
“I don’t want coffee, Alfred,” Bruce replied. “I want sleep.”  
  
“Should’ve thought of that _before_ you decided to become a vigilante.”  
  
Bruce threw a half-hearted glare Alfred’s way and wiggled his bow tie into place. In his opinion it wasn't Batman that was the issue, more the Wayne routine Alfred had always insisted he keep up, but it was an old argument neither of them had ever been able to settle and he didn't bother digging it up again now. Instead, he reached for his suit jacket and was about to slide his arms into the sleeves when Alfred stopped him.  
  
“How can you manage to learn and perform God-knows-how-many forms of Martial Arts, yet still be incapable of tying a bloody bow around your neck?”  
  
Bruce ignored the question and stood patiently as the old man fussed, feeling more like a teenage boy getting ready for prom than the middle aged man he actually was, before something was dropped into his hands.  
  
“I trust you won’t any need help with _that_.”

Bruce’s eyes went wide as they fell to the mask.  
  
“A _bat_ ?” he asked, incredulously. “Well why don’t I just put the whole damn suit on?”  
  
“Wouldn’t want you to be _too_ comfortable tonight, sir.”  
  
Bruce rolled his eyes. The old man wasn't anywhere near as funny as he thought he was, and when he was out of earshot, Bruce mumbled a curse.  
  
-

Bruce refused to wear the mask at first - something about tempting fate had never appealed - but when he arrived knew he'd seem more out of place without it and reluctantly strapped the mask over his eyes, laughing at every joke and Batman reference thrown his way, while he cursed Alfred to the outer edges of the universe and back.

But the mask did have its good points, mainly that it hid the dark circles ringing his very tired eyes. Although last night had been a long one, followed by an even longer day, it was at least three weeks since Bruce last slept properly. Three weeks since his brain was able to actually switch off. Three weeks since Joker had escaped Arkham asylum _again._ More than enough to leave Bruce scouring the streets every night for the slightest hint of his whereabouts, it wasn't just Joker’s newfound freedom that scared him. Throughout the twenty one days of his freedom, Joker had yet to make a _single_ move and based on far more experience than he liked, Bruce knew it was a sure sign that whatever he was planning was going to be bad.  
  
And what made it worse, making every part of Bruce feel heavier and even more tired than usual, was the disappointment. Nine months ago he'd made a gamble - a stupid, reckless gamble born out of desperation and something else Bruce would rather not name - and there was a moment, or many if honest with himself, where he'd begun to hope. Hope that after all this time things might actually _change._ But the escape proved that they weren't going to...and Bruce didn’t want to think about how sick it made him feel.  
  
His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat and, turning, he came face to face with a woman he recognised instantly and had hoped to speak to since the evening began.

Bruce’s feelings about Candace Marshall were mixed. On the one hand, her election had been a massive boost for the city. During her campaign she'd offered all the usual promises of clearing up the city and clamping down on crime, but there'd been something about her, some kind of steel that Bruce'd liked and when she'd actually started delivering on some of those promises, he'd known his instincts about her had been right. But her attitude towards Batman made things complicated. She didn't like him. _At all._ In fact, one of her nicer opinions of Batman was that he was petty thug, as bad as those he apprehended and Bruce knew Batman would never win a popularity contest, but still. He had to disagree with _that_.

Her views weren't new by any means but in the past Gotham’s politicians had always been happy to leave him be so as long as he did the dirty work for them, a low crime rate hardly a hindrance for a re-election campaign. But clearly the same couldn't be said for Marshall. From her first day in office she'd pushed the GCPD to finally get Batman off the streets, steadily increasing pressure until Gordon was now close to actually removing the signal from the station’s roof. To say it made Bruce’s job harder was an understatement.

  
Plastering on a smile, Bruce offered his hand. “Madam Mayor, so glad you could make it.”  
  
“Mister Wayne.” A smaller smile spread across Candace’s lips that Bruce thought _might_ be genuine but couldn't quite tell. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s not normally my scene but I couldn’t resist for such a good cause.”  
  
“I appreciate it,” Bruce said, before pointing to the ornate hawk eyes and beak covering the top half of her face. “And the mask isn’t bad, either.”

  
“Well, I’d like to think it’s in slightly better taste than _yours_ , at least.”

She was still smiling but Bruce could hear the disapproval and he pointed to himself, all earnest innocence.

“Oh, the bat? Yes, well, my butler seems to think he has a good sense of humour. But don't worry,” he held up his hands. “The streets are safe from _this_ bat, at least.”  
  
“I don't think your butler’s humour is the only one that's questionable,” Candace said, the smile slipping just a little. “It's hard to find anything funny about a dangerous criminal roaming the streets freely every night.”  
  
“Oh, absolutely,” Bruce nodded, dropping the smile, too. “Although he doesn’t scare me half as much as some of the others.”  
  
“Really?” She frowned and there was something about the way she looked at him that made him feel like he was being assessed.

“Well, yeah. I mean, he only goes after criminals, right? And I'm not one, so...” he trailed off with a shrug.

  
“So far,” she argued and Bruce had a moment where he wasn't sure if she was referring to Batman, or Bruce's innocence. “But what's to stop him crossing that line? Nobody should be above the law and this man has law enforcement sitting in his pocket. Although _that's_ definitely about to change.” She took a sip of her drink and continued. “Combine that with the massive resources he clearly has and I'm sorry but I honestly believe he's even more of a threat to this city than the Joker.”

“ _Really_?”

Bruce’s smile was laced with disbelief and the shock was genuine. Whatever people thought of Batman, no one had ever considered him _worse_ than Joker before. A sobering experience and, considering this opinion was held by the woman responsible for running the city, a scary one.  


Bruce's job was about to become _very_ difficult, indeed.  
  
But before he could say anything else, another guest caught Marshall’s attention and, with a quick smile and goodbye, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Bruce so bewildered that it took him a minute to realise he hadn’t even been able to touch the topic he’d wanted to discuss. He took a deep breath. Crane would apparently have to wait.

So to pass the time until he could draw her into conversation once more, Bruce immersed himself fully into the Wayne role, mingling and thanking people for coming and making sure everyone knew exactly where to put their money. And when a young woman signalled her interest in a dance, Bruce didn’t hesitate, throwing on the charm and it wasn't an entirely agonising ordeal, as Jane turned out to be pretty good company, even managing to raise a few genuine smiles out of him as they chatted on the dance floor.

  
They were midway through observations of the other guests when someone quietly asked to cut in and Bruce was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier, given the amount of eyes following Jane around the room. He could tell she wasn't happy about the interruption, but, as nice as her company was, Bruce had had enough dancing for one night and took a step back to let the other man take over.  
  
And was surprised when he felt a hand take _his_ , before Jane got bumped out of the way by the hip.  
  
“I wasn’t talking to _him_ , Sweetheart,” the man giggled and Bruce froze. He'd know that sound _anywhere_.

For a second the mask almost, _almost_ slipped, his eyes going wide and head going blank and he forgot all about Jane and the gala and everyone else in the room as his eyes fixed on the face in front of him. He was expecting to be overwhelmed by clashing shades of purple and green and the lack of it only threw him off even more, as he was confronted with black and white instead, the only splash of colour present in the jester mask hiding the top half of the face.  
  
“Thought she’d never leave,” Joker whispered, giggling again and that was when Bruce realised Jane wasn't even there anymore. His eyes quickly moved around the room that was slowly coming back into focus and the fatigue slipped away, sharpness replacing it.

It took Bruce a minute to fully get control of himself again, but when he did it was with the biggest smile he could muster, just about managing to slip out a quick laugh.

“Do I know you?” he asked and hoped the forced humour was convincing because there was something about the way Joker was looking at him that set every one of Bruce's nerves on edge. “I’m sure I’d remember a dance partner like you.”  
  
A wide grin spread across Joker’s lips and he leaned in.

“Oh, we know each other _very_ well,” he said, his voice low. “But, then, you’re already aware of that, aren’t you?”  
  
Yes he was and, with nothing else to do, Bruce gently tugged his hand. Joker’s grip tightened. The distance between them closed even further and Joker’s voice softened to barely above a whisper as he said, “Or, should I say, _Batman_ ?”  
  
For the second time, Bruce froze and there was a moment where he was sure he'd misheard, or wanted to believe he had. But there was no mistaking the look in those eyes or the tone of that voice and when Joker winked, any tiny sliver of hope Bruce might've had died. He yanked his hand this time, trying to pry it out of Joker’s grip as he was overwhelmed by the urge to bolt.

  
“Ah, ah, ah,” Joker crooned, voice still soft. “I asked for a dance.”

  
Bruce’s voice dropped, all pretence gone. “I’m not dancing with you.”  
  
“Oh, I think you are, darling and you’re gonna look like you’re enjoying it, too.”

Warm air brushed against Bruce's ear as Joker leaned far too close and spoke into it. “Because, if you don’t, I can’t guarantee that the people in this room will still be breathing when they _leave_ .”  
  
A shiver ran down Bruce’s spine and he closed his eyes, his free hand clenching into a fist. For one long moment, he considered using it and dragging Joker out of the room by the scruff of the neck. He was so close and it would be so _easy…_

But no. No he wasn't going to do that. He couldn't. That was the norm for Batman but Bruce Wayne didn't have a violent bone in his body. And it was an impulse he'd vowed nine months ago to no longer resort to, wanting to change the same old cycle they'd found themselves stuck in and he tried to ignore how fragile his resolve was already proving to be.  
  
Opening his eyes, Bruce looked long and hard into the eyes only just visible through the mask and said to himself, _you can do this._ Then he shifted his hand into a more comfortable position and, in response, Joker let his free hand land on Bruce's shoulder. Bruce’s other arm was mere inches away from resting against Joker’s waist, but even as he tried to force it to move there was something inside that refused to close the gap. He didn’t _want_ to do this, didn’t want to dance with Joker and pretend everything was fine, play the same old game, make the same old moves and end it all the same old way. He wanted everyone to leave, maybe sit Joker down and just talk and - and - and what? He didn't know anymore, he just didn't want to do _this_.

  
“We’re stood in the middle of a dance floor, dear,” Joker said. “And we’re not dancing. People might think we’re _weird_ .”  
  
Chuckles snapped Bruce out of his thoughts and it was just enough to make him close the distance, but it was a literal helping hand from Joker that finally brought his palm to rest on Joker’s waist.  
  
“Atta boy,” Joker murmured, before his hand returned to Bruce’s shoulder.  
  
Bruce tried to distract himself by giving Joker a second assessment, which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best idea. With his head all over the place, Bruce'd only really taken in the colour scheme, but now he saw that a man usually dressed in clothes more fitting for the ringleader of a circus was in fact, looking nothing short of impeccable in a tuxedo that put most of the others in the room to shame. Bruce refused to imagine where Joker might've got it from. It wouldn’t help.

Joker's hair was swept back from his face and very much _not_ green and when Bruce's eyes dared to actually land on Joker’s face, he realised that the skin visible beneath the mask wasn’t its usual white, but just a couple of shades lighter than his own. The fact that Bruce hadn't actually registered that before now showed just how far on the back foot he really was.  
  
“See something you like?” Joker asked, swaying gently from side to side as they started to move in a slow circle.  
  
“What do you want, Joker?” Bruce asked and even to his own ears he sounded tired. And afraid.

Joker pressed a finger to Bruce’s lips. “Watch that tongue of yours, dearest, or mine might just start wagging.”  
  
Bruce’s hackles rose and he used every ounce of willpower he had left to keep calm.

  
“I won’t, by the way,” Joker continued, his tone maddeningly conversational, like he wasn't a serial killing psychopath that'd just threatened the lives of everyone in the room. “Share your secret, that is. Far too much fun this way. And it’s nice to finally put a proper face to the fists!”  
  
Although the sound wasn't actually any louder than a murmur, Joker’s laughter reverberated loudly in Bruce’s eardrums, almost enough to make him wince.

  
“You haven’t answered my question,” Bruce said. He didn't how much more of this he could take. “What do you _want_?”

  
“I already told you,” Joker replied. “I wanted a dance. Just one little dance with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor. Been a frightfully lonely few months, Brucie and I needed cheering up. Been going through a bit of a break-up, you see. There’s this guy I was seeing - you might know him, actually - and _I_ thought it was all going so well, until, one day, he just swoops in and locks me up without even so much as a how’s-your-father. Never calls, never writes.” He sighed theatrically. “It’s enough to break a poor girl’s heart.”  
  
There was an edge to Joker’s voice then that made Bruce look away and take a deep breath. No he hadn't called, but then neither had Joker and Bruce would've reminded him but this wasn't the time or place to start playing tit for tat.

So, instead, he tried to figure out what Joker was up to. Of all the places to turn up, why _here_ ? Yes, there was money - a _lot_ of it - but Joker had never really been interested in that sort of thing. It was something else and the tricky part would be working out what it was before people got hurt.

  
“I gotta say, Brucie-Boy,” Joker said, tone still chatty, pleasant and _infuriating_ . “You sure know how to treat your guests. I mean, the champagne’s gotta be worth more than most Gothamites make in a month, am I right?”  
  
“How did you even get in here?” Bruce demanded. Not that he'd ever consider it impossible for someone like Joker to manage but if Bruce was going to have to start upping security, he'd like to know where to start.

  
Joker leaned back and gave Bruce a look. “What, you think you’re the only one who hires escorts for this sort of thing?”  
  
Bruce wished he hadn’t asked. Surely one of the guests hadn’t arrived on the arm of _the Joker_ …had they? His gaze circled the room in case a pair of eyes wondered why their date was dancing the night away with someone else, but two men dancing together was always going to attract the attention of more than just one person. And Joker’s gaze followed Bruce’s just as another couple passed them, giving them a look that definitely wasn't one of approval, but Joker just smiled and nodded his head, before his attention went back to the dance. It was enough to make Bruce’s brain short-circuit, seeing Joker act so congenially, fit in _so well_ .  
  
Bruce's discomfort must've been obvious because Joker tutted and started kneading his shoulder.  
  
“You seem a little tense,” he remarked.  
  
“Can’t think why,” Bruce said, voice cold as his eyes met Joker’s again.  
  
“Aw, now don’t be like that,” Joker whined. “You’re playing all hard-to-get right now, but I know there’s just a _teeny tiny_ part of you that’s glad to see me.”  
  
Bruce glared but didn't say anything and as Joker leaned in even closer, noses touching and those impossibly bright green eyes drilling holes into him, he let out a high-pitched laugh, before immediately clapping a hand over his own mouth. Several guests looked their way and Bruce’s grip tightened, patience close to snapping.

  
“Oh, _darling_ ,” Joker whispered, the word slipping out between half-stifled giggles, his face still close and practically glowing with delight. “If I’d known how much you were missing me, I’d have broken out months ago!”  
  
Bruce didn’t reply, too annoyed and, frankly, _alarmed_ by how easily Joker had just read him, and in a desperate need for deflection, Bruce decided to run with the conversational opportunity Joker’s last comment provided.  
  
“How _did_ you escape?” he asked.  
  
Joker didn't reply straight away and for a long moment simply studied Bruce, the smile fading but refusing to drop completely.  
  
“I didn’t,” he finally said and Bruce frowned.

“But, you just-”  
  
“Ah, I said I _would have_ ,” Joker corrected, with a wag of his finger. “Not that I _did_. Oh, sure it was made to seem like an escape and was oh-so-very convincing.” Joker paused, giving Bruce another long look. “But I know the difference between escape and release.”

There may well have been some kind of crude double entendre hidden in there somewhere, but Bruce was too busy focusing on something a lot more important to acknowledge it. Joker being covertly released would raise a huge amount of questions, but Bruce found himself focusing on only one: was it true?  
  
“Why would they release you?” he asked, reluctant to believe even as he fought against the renewed hope prickling in his chest.  
  
“Y’know,” Joker said, his tone thoughtful. “I’m wondering the same thing, myself.” A wide grin spread across his mouth. “It’s kept me _very_ busy these last few weeks, let me tell you.”  
  
“How so?” Bruce wondered, unaware of how obviously eager for information he looked until Joker started giggling again.  
  
“Oh, if only Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding was as chatty as you! He’d best be careful. I might have a new favourite.” A glower from Bruce forced Joker to focus. “Oh, alright, if you _must_ know, I’ve been trying my hand at a bit of detective work - Bats would be proud! Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to discover who’s responsible, but what I _have_  uncovered is gonna provide plenty of bedside reading.”

Joker inched closer, noses almost touching again, and Bruce was torn between the choice to lean in or back away.

“For _both_ of us.”  
  
“What does this have to do with me?” Bruce asked.  
  
“Well, aren’t you curious about how I figured out your not-so-little secret?” Joker’s fore and middle fingers walked along Bruce’s right shoulder, climbing up the side of his neck and face before gently flicking his temple. “It pains me to admit, but I _never_ woulda done it myself. Not that I was ever looking but still. Even I have to admit this mask’s impressive.”  
  
Bruce didn't bother asking what mask he was talking about and his blood ran cold as he considered what Joker was telling him. If it was true, who _else_ knew?

  
“Of course,” Joker continued, seemingly oblivious to Bruce’s mounting panic. “When you take a closer look - as I am, right now - you start to see the little signs that perhaps Bruce Wayne isn’t everything he says he is.”  
  
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “What's that supposed to mean?”  
  
Joker’s right hand shifted position, wrapping around Bruce’s fingers to bring his hand up between them.  
  
“I mean,” Joker said, voice lowering as his gaze settled on his thumb running backwards and forwards across Bruce's knuckles. “That a man who supposedly spends his days doing nothing more than eating, drinking and entertaining women, does _not_ end up with the hands of a bare knuckle boxer.”  
  
Bruce hoped the dim lighting in the room was enough to hide the colour flushing his cheeks. However, given the way those eyes seemed to evaluate every inch of him, Bruce wasn't sure he'd be so lucky. He tugged his hand again, but, of course, Joker wasn’t going to give an inch. Instead, he readjusted the grip, bringing their hands to his chest and snaking his other arm around Bruce's neck, making the dance even more intimate. And Bruce hated it. Part of it, at least. The part where his head was all over the place and the threat of death hung over everyone in the room. As for the rest, well he hated himself for not hating that part quite enough.

  
For a while they were both silent and Bruce, still reeling from it all, wasn’t sure how to break it. He tried to think but it only seemed to make the panic worse. All of it seemed to much, too _big_ , question after question spinning in his brain and it wasn't until Joker's hand fidgeted and fingers dipped into the collar of Bruce's shirt that he was able to focus again.

  
“Relax, Batsy,” Joker cooed, voice softer than Bruce wanted it to be. “Despite what you think, I didn’t come here to hurt you. I just needed to get your attention. Once this little number’s finished, I’ll be outta your hair and you can continue to wine and dine the night away.”  


Bruce managed to shake his head. “I can't just let you leave.”

“Well, you're gonna have to, I'm afraid. This thing is just a little bit bigger than _us,_ right now.”

Bruce didn’t know what to say to that and as much as he might want to push, he couldn't afford to. There was too much at stake. So he had no choice but to let the rest of the number play out as they moved together hand in hand, cheek to cheek, swaying in time to the gentle hum of violins until, eventually, the music stopped and Joker finally allowed a small but much-needed amount of distance between them. He didn’t let go of Bruce’s hand, though.  
  
“Well, that was more fun than I’ve had in a _long_ time,” Joker said with a grin that wasn't entirely malicious. “Send Batsy my regards and remember -” he wagged a finger at Bruce. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”  
  
With a quick pat of Bruce's cheek, Joker released his hand and was about to walk away, when he seemed to remember something.  
  
“Oh, and you might wanna be careful when you're taking off your shirt.”  
  
Before Bruce could even ask what the Hell _that_ meant, Joker sauntered through the crowd towards the exit and Bruce’s eyes followed him all the way. It wasn’t until Joker disappeared completely that Bruce finally let out a long, long breath.

  
Someone - Bruce didn't bother to see who - approached, but he ignored whatever question they were asking and excused himself. He needed a moment to...he just needed a moment.

As soon as he got to the bathroom, Bruce went straight to the nearest sink and tore off the mask that’d started off ridiculous and now felt stifling. He ran the tap and splashed cold water onto his face and his hands rubbed at the tired skin, as though it could erase the entire evening from existence.  
  
Eventually, when enough sanity kicked in to remind Bruce that that wasn’t possible, he settled for placing his hands either side of the sink and staring at himself in the mirror. He looked even worse now than he had a few hours ago and felt an overwhelming urge to head-butt his reflection.

He slammed his hands against the sink instead.

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Bruce wanted to shout or scream or - or kick, punch and destroy everything in arm’s reach. Or he wanted to race out the building, find Joker and hit him or - or - or go back home, put Alfred on the first flight out of Gotham and -

Bruce dropped his head, took several deep breaths and sighed. Then he pushed away from the sink and started pacing the bathroom to walk off the rest of the rage until something tickled the back of his neck. He remembered Joker’s last words.

What did he do? Bruce reached into the back of his collar and pulled out something small and plastic: a purple data stick.  
  
Placing it safely into the breast pocket of his shirt, Bruce didn't waste any more time. Wining and dining were off the cards tonight and he knew it was rude to just abandon the guests without even so much as a goodbye, but he didn’t care. There were more important things to worry about. And as he left, Bruce triggered the fire alarm. He may’ve done as Joker asked, but that didn’t mean Joker wouldn't still kill everyone in the room, and Bruce was sure the guests would appreciate being hosed down by sprinklers a whole lot more than being dead.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thanks go to FreneticKinetic for her invaluable help and support!

Bruce didn't go inside straight away. On the manor steps, leaning against the door, he just waited and breathed, hoping the cold air might clear his head. Coming home this early, Alfred was already going to ask questions and he didn't want to make the old man panic any more than he already would.

When he finally did go inside, Bruce marched past Alfred without a word but nodded his head to make it clear he could follow, before heading for the old grand piano and hitting the keys that provided access to the cave. And when they stood in the elevator, it was in silence that would've been awkward if Bruce’d been with anyone else but Alfred knew to be patient. Bruce would talk soon enough.

As they made their way over to the desk lined with computer screens, Bruce stripped off the jacket and bow tie, before undoing the collar and cuffs of his shirt and rolling up the sleeves. He was still trying to get rid of that stifling feeling and was tempted to just strip off and jump straight into the shower, but it would've wasted time and he didn't feel he had that luxury right now. So he took the data stick out of his shirt pocket and plugged it into the jack at the side of the screen, before taking a deep breath.

  
“We’ve got a problem,” Bruce said, turning the chair to face Alfred. “It’s Joker…” another deep breath. “And he knows.”

There wasn't any need to explain what it was Joker knew and Alfred went quiet as his eyes grew a fraction wider, as close to outright panic as he ever got. And Bruce had to look away as he gave a brief account of the conversation with Joker, leaving out more than a few things he didn't think Alfred needed to hear, things Bruce would rather not think about and when he finished, it was very tempting just to hit his head on the desk. How had the evening ended up like this?

  
“Before he left,” Bruce said, turning back round to face the computer screens. “He gave me this.”   
  
He pointed to the data stick and Alfred took a seat beside him, pulling out the glasses tucked into the pocket of his cardigan as Bruce went to the first of the folders and opened it.

The first thing to come up were several pictures of Joker. The first had him at his most recognisable, purple suit, green hair and a red mouth able to stretch wider than the laws of nature should've allowed wide open with the laughter Bruce knew by heart. Scenes from just a couple of hours ago came back and Bruce found it hard to believe the man on the screen was the same one capable of sneaking into a party full of Gotham’s social elite. 

The next picture was the complete opposite, Joker in Arkham orange with hair almost as white as his skin pushed back from a face free of makeup. It wasn't often he was seen with his natural hair colour - or what passed as such since the acid bath - and Bruce'd never been able to get used to it. If possible, it made Joker look even more unearthly than usual, almost like a ghost, which, in some ways, was a description more apt than Bruce liked. And in contrast to the lack of colour everywhere else, his eyes seemed to glow even brighter with that spark Bruce'd never been able to describe but only ever associated with Joker, almost like they wanted to leap out of the screen at him. Bruce couldn’t look at them too long.

He didn't look too hard at the third picture, either. It was security footage and the quality was poor but still clear enough to recognise the two people in it. He and Joker fighting as they always did, a black fist buried halfway into a purple stomach. He never liked seeing footage of their fights. It was brutal enough to be in them, but seeing it from afar, Bruce was always forced to see just  _ how _ brutal they were. And the delight always on Joker’s face, even when it was bloody and screwed up in pain...it wasn't right. And it never had been.

The other two files were just text and didn't hold a lot of information. One contained Joker’s history, which was always going to be short because nobody - not even the man himself - knew much about it. There was once a time Bruce'd been determined to find out, but after the fifth lie he realised that either Joker really  _ didn't  _ know, or he simply didn't want anyone else to. The other was a list of Joker’s criminal history and Bruce didn't even bother to read it because that information was already committed to memory.

It took another hour for Bruce and Alfred to go through the rest of the files and Joker hadn’t been lying about being busy. The amount of information he'd gathered was impressive and Bruce wondered how he'd managed it. And, when he opened one of the last files, crammed full of information about Bruce Wayne, he discovered exactly how Batman's true identity had been revealed. Whoever was behind this had done their homework, because not only were there detailed biographies on him and his parents, but Alfred too. And that scared Bruce more than anything. He didn't know what was going on yet, but the thought of Alfred being a target was terrifying. The loss of his parents had almost crippled Bruce, he wasn't sure he'd survive losing Alfred, too.   
  
But he pushed the fear aside when he came across the file on Jonathan Crane and whatever faith he'd had - or wanted to have - in Crane’s rehabilitation started to die. He wanted to believe it, he really did, but his inclusion in the files wasn't a good sign.

  
It wasn't until they reached the last of the files that Bruce realised what Joker meant about this being bigger than just the two of them and, by the time he finished reading, Bruce had to unclench a fist with knuckles that'd gone white as Alfred removed his glasses and rubbed a hand over his face.   
  
“So,” he sighed. “Someone's placed a hit on you.”   
  


Bruce nodded, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. “And Joker.”   
  
“You’ll forgive me for not really caring about that part, sir.”   
  
Bruce didn't reply. He scanned the text a second time, taking in every single word twice over, before starting to sift through all the files again, hoping for some sort of clue as to who was behind all this, but they didn't provide a single one. What they did give him was questions, a  _ lot _ of them, but one that caught him in particular was why they were going for Batman rather than Bruce Wayne. They knew they were one and the same but a third check made it clear the hit was purely for Batman, no mention of Bruce whatsoever. Not that he wished death on himself, but he was certain it'd be a lot easier to kill him in the daytime than night, when he didn't have tools and armour to protect him. It didn't make sense to him and neither did Joker’s inclusion. He could understand wanting Batman out of the way, but what'd Joker done to piss them off so much they'd be willing to pay such a large sum of money for his head? 

  
Bruce felt a migraine coming.   
  
“I’m sure it’s crossed your mind,” Alfred said eventually, cutting through Bruce's thoughts. “That this could all be fake.”   
  
“It has,” Bruce said. “But we can't ignore it, not until we  _ prove  _ it is.”   
  


And both of them went quiet again, before Alfred stood up and headed for the elevator.

  
“Where are you going?” Bruce asked.   
  
Alfred paused and looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t know about you, Master Wayne, but I could use a drink.”   
  
Bruce nodded and turned back to the screens and resting his chin in his hand, considered what Alfred had said. It'd crossed his mind more than a few times that this could all be bullshit, he'd even been close to tossing the data stick onto the street on the way home, but...if this  _ was _ real, what did Joker hope to gain by sharing it? Was he looking for protection? Doubtful. That wasn't really Joker’s style. So why was he warning him? Maybe…

No, Bruce wasn't going there. Not yet. It was too soon and Bruce didn't have nearly enough facts to start getting any hopes up, so he decided to get up and follow Alfred into the kitchen. The kettle was just being set to boil when he entered and he placed both palms on the island, mind still going a hundred miles an hour. Bruce’s fingers started to tap against the cool, smooth surface as he waited patiently for the old man to finish making his drink.   
  
“I know what you’re thinking, Master Wayne,” Alfred said, his back to Bruce as he stirred his tea. “And the answer is no.”   
  
“Alfred -”   
  


“ _ No _ , Bruce.”   
  
It wasn’t often Alfred used his first name, further proof of just how rattled he was by the whole situation. But they hadn't gone up against anything quite like this before and, as much as Bruce appreciated Alfred's unwavering loyalty, there were some things he’d have to do alone. He didn't want to but there were other things he wanted even less.

“It isn't safe,” Bruce said. “Not only does Joker know about us, but these people - whoever they are - could easily use you as leverage and I can’t focus on solving this properly with that threat hanging over us.”

_ I can't lose you too. _ It wasn't said but Bruce knew Alfred would hear it anyway and, along with Bruce's tone of voice, it made Alfred stop what he was doing, place the mug back onto the kitchen counter and face him. He took a few steps forward and put his hand on Bruce's shoulder, giving it a squeeze.   
  


“Master Wayne,” he began, voice just shy of fatherly. “We've done this for over forty years, you and I. And from the very beginning, when you first told me of your grand scheme to save Gotham, we both knew the risks. And I accepted them, just as you did, even when I know each night you went out there could possibly be your last. And Lord knows each time I want nothing more than to stop you, lock you in your room if I have to just to keep you safe. But we've all made our choices and now...we have to live with them.”

  
The hand resting on Bruce’s shoulder moved to the back of his neck and Alfred’s face came closer, their foreheads almost touching. Bruce’s eyes finally lifted to meet his.   
  
“So, if you think some demented madman is going to chase me away, you’ve got another thing coming.”   
  
For a long long time, Bruce didn’t respond. He just held Alfred’s gaze. Bruce knew he should push, make him leave, fire him if necessary, but there was a selfish part of Bruce - scared, even - that wouldn't let him do it. For the entire eighteen years of Batman’s existence, Alfred had always been there, as a medic, confidante and - more often than Bruce liked - the voice of reason. He wasn’t sure how he’d cope without him.   
  
Eventually, Bruce’s eyes dropped again and he let out a defeated sigh, before reaching up to pat Alfred gratefully on the back. Alfred released him and returned to the abandoned cup of tea.   
  
“Besides,” the old man continued. “Who else is going to iron your bloody shirts?”   
  
Bruce snorted with laughter and ignored the pesky little voice in the back of his head that told him he’d regret this.   
  
-   
  
The rain was especially bad that night, coming down in sheets that made Bruce's cape hang heavy on his shoulders as he watched the streets below. With what he'd learned last night, Bruce knew what the next step should be. If he wanted to know whether Joker’s intel was genuine, he needed to see Cobblepot. Deals weren't made and money didn't change hands in Gotham without either his knowledge or say-so. But Bruce needed to be careful. If the hit was real then Cobblepot was likely to be one of the first to try and cash in and, because of this, Bruce'd made himself wait an entire day before suiting up and heading to the Iceberg Lounge. The gala hadn’t left him at his best last night and, although time wasn’t Bruce’s greatest resource at the moment, the delay would do far more good than harm in the long run.

The club looked crowded, which worked in Bruce's favour. Cobblepot would do anything to avoid the disruption and potential loss of business a visit from the Batman could provide, and he jumped off the building, gliding towards one of the top window ledges to make his way to the back office. It didn't take much to knock out the two men stationed outside the office doors, and Bruce flung one of them through the doors to announce his arrival.

  
“What -” Cobblepot cried, eyes as wide as saucers when they fixed on Bruce.   
  
He tried scrambling off the sofa but wasn’t exactly  built for agility, but young women either side of him had no trouble jumping out of the way and heading straight for the doors as soon as they could.   
  
A quick view of the room showed they were alone, so Bruce continued walking towards Cobblepot and grabbed him by the collar, heaving him up to almost eye level.   
  
“L-look,” Cobblepot began, the cigar falling out of his mouth as his hands went up in surrender. “You can’t come in here like this! I haven't done-”   
  
“I’minformation,” Bruce said. “Which you’re going to provide.”   
  
“Put me down and I’ll talk,” Cobblepot demanded.   
  
“Talk and I’ll  _ think _ about it,” Bruce tightened his grip on Cobblepot’s collar. Not enough to choke, but enough to make breathing that little bit harder.

  
There was a quick flash of defiance in Cobblepot’s beady eyes, but it was quickly replaced by the need to breathe.   
  
“Al-alright!” he choked. “Alright, I’ll…t-tell you…what you wanna know!”   
  
Bruce let a long minute pass before he loosed his grip. Slightly.   
  
Cobblepot took a desperate breath before continuing. “I assume this is about the price on your head? Yeah, I’ve heard about it. Surprised it hasn’t come up sooner, to be honest.”   
  
“What do you know?” Bruce demanded.

  
“Only who has to be whacked and how much it’s worth. If I had the means or the desperation, I’d do it meself.” He craned his neck, trying to squeeze a little more space between his throat and Bruce's fingers. “I’m not suicidal, though.”   
  
“No,” Bruce agreed. “But you  _ are _ greedy.”   
  
“Not  _ that _ greedy. There’s no way I’m going up against you or that mad bastard!”   
  
Bruce knew exactly who the mad bastard was and couldn’t argue with the sentiment. Those who got involved with the Joker rarely, if ever, remained healthy.   
  
“Besides,” Cobblepot continued. “The hit wasn’t given to me. A group I’ve never heard of are the ones gunnin’ for ya. Ghost, they’re called.”   
  
Bruce didn't recognise the name and he didn't remember it being mentioned in any of the files.

  
“Who put out the hit?”

  
“I dunno for certain,” Cobblepot answered. “But I’ve heard rumours. There’s an organisation that’s involved in some heavy, secret stuff and, apparently, they need you outta the way. You’ve got a nasty habit of pokin’ those pointy ears where they ain’t welcome.”   
  
That made sense and confirmed some of Bruce’s suspicions. Not all of them, though. “And the Joker? Why is  _ he _ included in the hit?”   
  
“Lord knows,” Cobblepot said and would have shrugged his shoulders if he wasn't dangling off the floor, shuffling on tiptoes to keep his balance. “Maybe because he’s an even bigger fucking nuisance than you! Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s wanted him gone and it won’t be the last.”   
  
“What else do you know?”   
  
“That’s it!” Cobblepot insisted. “Someone wants the Batman and Joker dead, and they’re willing to pay well for it. That’s all I know.”   
  
Bruce looked into Cobblepot’s eyes, trying to judge whether he was telling the truth. It wasn’t beyond him to lie but he’d always been more than happy to sing his heart out if an easy life was offered in return. Bruce wanted to push further, find out if this Ghost organisation knew who Batman really was, but Cobblepot hadn’t mentioned Bruce Wayne and it would’ve raised suspicion if Batman did.   
  
Realising that he wasn’t going to get much more from Cobblepot, Bruce released him and flung him back onto the sofa and turned to leave. Cobblepot clambered upright, left hand clutching his newly-freed throat.   
  
“You wanna watch your back, Batman,” he croaked. “Your time is up, mate!”   
  
Bruce ignored him and headed for the window, grappling to the roof of the club. The rain hadn’t eased in the slightest and he took a moment to process the information Cobblepot had provided.   
  


So Bruce was going to have to add this Ghost organisation to a list that was already far too long and only getting longer but for this he wasn't even sure where to begin. All he had was a name and it wasn’t a particularly original one at that and he didn't remember seeing a single reference to   
them in the files. He'd check again to be sure didn't hold out much hope. But if investigating  _ them _ was going to be hard work, it’d be nothing compared to finding out who'd hired them. He didn’t even have a name for them and Cobblepot didn't know much about them either, which was worrying and frustrating in equal measure. 

  
Bruce took a deep breath and it was then that something caught his eye. With a spin, his arm went up, only just managing to catch a fist with the edge of his gauntlet and his free arm swung to slam into their ribs, before he kicked them to the ground. But there wasn't time to recover as another came at him, leaping into the air to knock him to the ground, Bruce narrowly avoiding a boot to the face as he caught it between his hands and sent them to the ground.   
  
Two more came forward, one managing to hit him in the back as another landed a blow to his chest hard enough to wind him. There was some power behind the attacks and, without the armour, the result would have been more than just bruising. 

Bruce only just managed to recover before more punches and kicks came flying his way and between blocks and dodges, he tried his best to count the number of enemies surrounding him but gave up after five. He was severely outnumbered and knew he wouldn’t last much longer. These weren't ordinary thugs, they were well-trained and  _ fast _ and the best Bruce could hope for was a chance to escape.   
  
That chance came just as Bruce was pushing himself up from the ground, but it was from the unlikeliest of sources. Bullets on concrete sent sparks flying across the roof and ducking to avoid the path, Bruce looked for the source of the gunfire but he needn't have bothered because his ears confirmed the shooter’s identity long before sight could.   
  
Cackling laughter rang through the air as Joker shot haphazardly at anything that moved. He was balanced precariously on the edge of the next building, machine gun in hand, and a grip on a large pole was the only thing standing between him and a fall to his death. The gunfire paused as Joker took a few steps back before doing a running jump and, as soon as he landed, the bullets started flying once more. 

Realising the shots - for once -  weren't intended for  _ him _ , Bruce put as much distance between them and himself as possible as he screamed to get Joker’s attention.

  
“Yes, darling?” Joker replied, tone as conversational as if he was watering plants.   
  
“Put the gun down!”   
  
“And let  _ you _ have all the fun? I don’t think so!”   
  
Bullets continued to rain down on the assassins who’d decided to retreat and Bruce moved towards Joker, hoping to snatch the gun from his hands before he did any more damage. A couple of assassins were already lying dead as the others scrambled to safety by leaping off the building.   
  
“Worry not, my dear,” Joker continued. “I’ll leave one for you.”   
  
Holding the weapon up to eye level, Joker aimed and caught one of them in the leg and they crashed to the ground just as Bruce tackled Joker and knocked the weapon out of his hands. He hurled it over the edge.   
  
“Hey,” Joker whined. “I was using that!”

Bruce ignored him and walked over to the figure trying to crawl towards the edge of the roof. They didn't get far and Bruce pressed his foot heavily into their back to holding them in place. He didn't waste any time in flipping them over and removing the hood that covered their face and was confronted with a young man staring back at him, dark eyes narrowed and a snarl on his lips. Bruce could tell he was going to be difficult and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him closer to the roof’s edge to dangle his top half over it.   
  
“Who are you working for?” Bruce demanded and at the edges of awareness, he felt Joker slowly advance. Bruce tried to ignore him.   
  
Silence was the only reply he got and his gaze left the other man’s face, searching for the bullet wound in his leg, before pressing his foot onto it. The man winced and let out a hiss.   
  
“I’ll ask  _ one more time _ .”

  
The Joker’s voice came from close behind. “Better do as he says,” he advised, in that irrepressible sing-song tone. “The Bat isn’t one for patience.”   
  
Gritting his teeth, Bruce kept his focus on the man underneath him. When no answer came a second time, he increased pressure on the wound and the man’s eyes squeezed shut before he spat in Bruce's face.   
  
“Ooh!” Joker giggled. “Feisty, isn’t he?”   
  
“Quiet!” Bruce snapped and Joker held up his hands and turned away. “You either talk to me or it’s a long crawl to the GCPD.”   
  
“I’m not telling you anything” the assassin said, defiance burning in his eyes. “So go ahead and kill me!”   
  
“Oh dear,” Joker giggled. “He doesn't know you at all, does he?”

Bruce turned to look at Joker. “Be  _ quiet _ !” And there was a flash of something in the corner of his eye but before he could even process it there was another gunshot, deafeningly close, and he flew backwards. Disoriented and ears ringing, Bruce took a while to realise what was happening until his eyes finally went back to the man on the ground and saw a pool of blood beside his head, coming from the hole in his temple that hadn't been there a moment ago.

  
And above the dead man, gun in hand, Joker waited. He looked at Bruce and that's when Bruce snapped, leaping to his feet to grab Joker by the collar and yank him forward until barely an inch separated their faces. The sound of metal hitting concrete echoed beside them.   
  
“What is wrong with you?” Bruce demanded.

Joker laughed. “How long have you got?”   
  
“You shot him!” 

  
Joker shrugged. “He asked me to.”

  
“I needed him  _ alive _ ,” Bruce said. “He was part of the group hired to kill us. He could have told us who he was working for!”   
  
“Oh, he wasn’t going to say a thing and you know it!”   
  
Bruce’s grip tightened and his voice lowered as he tried to keep himself under control. “He could have.”

  
“No. He. Wouldn’t,” Joker said, face coming closer with each word until their foreheads almost touched. “The man was trying to drag himself off the edge of a building, hardly the actions of someone in the mood to chat. And, not to mention, he  _ was _ about to knife you.”   
  
Bruce didn’t say anything and glared at Joker, refusing to think about the fact Joker might've just saved his life and Joker smiled back, making Bruce wish - not for the first time - that his fists could wipe that stupid expression off his face.

  
“What are you doing here?” he eventually asked instead.   
  
“Saving your ass, apparently.”

  
“Why?”   
  
Joker held his arms out and shrugged again. “Does it matter? I just did.” His finger came up and tapped the nose of Bruce’s cowl. “And the least you could do is say thank you.”   
  
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “The least I can do is throw you back into Arkham.”   
  
“I’m not going back,” Joker said, without missing a beat.   
  
“It’s not up to you,” Bruce reminded him.   
he may have let Joker go before but he wasn't making a habit of it.

  
Acid flashed in Joker's eyes. “It is if I pick up that gun, shove it down my throat and pull the trigger!”   
  
Bruce stopped, caught off-guard by the sudden venom in the Joker’s words but he recovered. “You’d have to reach the gun, first.”

  
The venom grew in Joker’s eyes grew, almost drilling holes into Bruce. “Oh, I will,” he said, voice lower now as the smile and humour vanished.

And Bruce wasn't sure what to say to that, but before he could try, Joker continued.

  
“Besides, I didn’t come here to fight.”   
  
“Then what did you come here for?”   
  
“A truce.”   
  
Bruce hadn't expected  _ that _ . The rain was still falling and it’d started to distort Joker’s makeup, with black trailing down his face and lipstick running down his chin, and Bruce watched it as his brain tried to figure out Joker’s angle.

  
“How do I know you’re not the one who set this whole thing up?” He had to ask, even if he knew he wouldn't get an honest answer if Joker had.

Joker rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on, Bats! You know full well that I had nothing to do with this. Why the Hell would I want to have myself killed? It's stupid and boring and the honour of killing  _ me _ was always reserved for someone  _ special _ .” 

He winked and laughed again and the sound rattled in Bruce’s brain. He wanted to shake him just to shut him up.

“That’ll never happen,” he growled.   
  
The grin remained where it was as Joker’s eyes, now bright with something Bruce couldn’t quite place, searched his face. “Apparently so.”   
  


As much as he might want to, Bruce didn't think this was the time or place to take that particular conversation any further, so he settled for asking, “Why a truce?”   
  
“I have my reasons,” Joker replied. “The first being that nobody hurts my lil buddy Brucey.” A soggy hand patted Bruce’s jaw. “And, as you’re now aware, I don’t fancy returning to the asylum any time soon. Not until  _ certain elements _ have been dealt with.”   
  
“Which are?”   
  
“Ah, ah, ah,” Joker sing-songed. “All in good time, my dear.”   
  
Against his better judgement, Bruce pulled Joker even closer. “If you know something-”   
  
“I will tell you, I promise,” Joker said, his hands curling around Bruce's wrists. “But, as that information is the only bargaining chip I have, you can’t blame me for keeping a few secrets.”   
  
“You’re lying,” Bruce insisted, although he wasn't entirely sure Joker was and that worried him even more.

  
“Always so eager to see the worst in me,” Joker sighed.   
  
Bruce said nothing as his eyes locked with Joker’s, wishing there was a way to know what the hell was going on in his head and Joker met the gaze easily, the pair at a standstill, neither willing to back down. Bruce felt that familiar itch in his palms, the fingers around his wrists seeming to vibrate with anticipation and it made Bruce's pulse race as he realised how similar this was to  _ then _ , that night nine months ago when Bruce had tried to change it all. But yet again, it didn't seem to have worked and his eyes went to the gun.

Joker often compared their game to chess, that no matter what pieces you used or how you moved them, there was only ever one way to finish it and Bruce had always hated the comparison but sometimes, like now, it was difficult to deny. It'd be easily to slip into their designated roles and just carry on as they always had but…

Bruce thought about the picture he'd seen last night, his fist buried in Joker’s stomach, and it was just enough to bring back his resolve. No, they weren't doing this, not anymore. Slowly and carefully he released Joker, whose hands dropped from Bruce’s wrists and both of them took a step back, neither one breaking eye contact. The rain made Joker’s hair stick to his face and he brushed it back, before readjusting his coat. The scene was all a bit too familiar.

Bruce took a deep breath. “Not always,” he murmured, in response to Joker’s last remark. And Joker’s eyes flashed again with that something Bruce just couldn't quite figure out.

“So, a truce?” Bruce said to push the moment forward.   
  
Joker nodded.   
  
" Which is?”   
  
Bruce braced himself, ready to get an outright no, but if anything proved how serious Joker was, it'd be this. “No killing.”   
  
Joker didn’t react right away. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forwards and seemed intent on taking in every last bit of Bruce's face. Then he threw his head back and let out a peal of laughter, leaving Bruce to wait as patiently as he could for him to calm back down. Joker stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Deal!”

Bruce eyed the hand warily. It was very dangerous territory he was about to step into, as close to making a deal with the actual Devil as he could get and Bruce only hoped he wouldn’t regret it. Even though he knew he  _ would _ .

****His hand was close to meeting Joker’s, but hovered still in the air for a moment as their eyes met again. “If you kill a single person or deceive me in any way, the deal is off and you’re back in Arkham.”  
  
Joker brought his hand up in a salute. “Yessir!”  
  
And Bruce finally took Joker's hand and shook it. A new game was about to begin and he only hoped he learned the rules quickly enough to win.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm amazed by the lovely reviews I've had for this story so far. Thanks so much to all of you! 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to FreneticKinetic for her Beta-ing.

Three days. Apparently, that was the length of time it took to go stark raving mad. At least, that’s how Bruce felt as he walked to his office on a morning all too happy to remind him that winter was on its way. Three days and only  _ one thing  _ had occupied his brain.   
  
A truce. 

Bruce was pretty sure all of Gotham would've given a collective sigh of relief if they'd known but Bruce was feeling anything but. He expected to wake up at any moment and discover it’d all been a dream, switch on the television and see Joker still at large, wreaking havoc across the city. But it hadn’t happened yet and Bruce was doing his damndest to accept that _ this was real _ . It was too close to something he’d wanted for too long and he'd been burnt too often in the past to give in to even a sliver of premature optimism.   
  
But, despite his attempts, he'd never been able to completely silence that ever-so-helpful voice whispering in the back of his head. For the very first time, Batman and Joker were on the  _ same side _ . They were working  _ with  _ each other instead of against and Bruce knew just how much potential there was. He knew exactly what Joker was capable of, how clever and resourceful. If he'd just put the homicidal tendencies to one side…

Not for the first time, Bruce told the voice to shut up. It  _ wasn't _ being helpful. It didn't matter what Joker said or did, the first rule of dealing with him was that you didn't take  _ anything _ at face value. So, yeah, Joker may’ve called a truce, but there were still far too many question marks hanging over the whole thing that needed to be removed before he could even start to trust him.

  
“Good morning, Mister Wayne,” Michelle said, looking up from the magazine she no doubt had hidden on her lap under the reception desk. “Something arrived for you today.”   
  
The way she said it made Bruce pause.

“Oh?”

  
“It’s on your desk,” she replied and he could see she was fighting a smile.

With a frown, he thanked Michelle before opening the door to his office and immediately wished he hadn't. He backed up a couple of spaces.

  
“Um…what is that?” He jerked a thumb towards the office.

  
Michelle lost the fight and grinned. “I think they’re called flowers.”   
  
Bruce very nearly glared. He really didn’t have the energy or patience for this, especially not today.

“I can see that. Who sent them?”   
  
“They didn’t leave a name,” she replied. “But you clearly left an impression on  _ somebody _ .”   
  
Bruce nodded and walked back into the office. Closing the door, he took a deep breath before looking at the biggest, most ridiculous bouquet of flowers he'd ever seen. Blue and purples roses in a tall white vase with an equally ridiculous lurid orange bow around the middle. And how there was even room for anything else on the desk Bruce didn't even know, but next to the vase, looking a whole lot more innocent than he reckoned they should, was a box of what he could only assume were chocolates.

He walked up to the desk and rooted around the flowers, hoping for some sort of card. He knew  _ who _ , but he didn't know  _ why _ . When the search turned up nothing, his attention went to the chocolates and he wondered if it'd be wise to call bomb disposal. But he was pretty sure that, if Joker  _ was _ going to kill him, it wouldn't be like this. At least he hoped.

Opening the lid, he saw a card lying on top of the chocolates and opened it to read the message scribbled inside.

  
**_BATSY ._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_9PM TONIGHT._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_DRESSCODE: KEVLAR._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_DON’T ACT UNTIL I GIVE THE SIGNAL._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_LOOK FORWARD TO OUR FIRST DATE._ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_XOXO_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_P.S. THE CARAMELS ARE TO DIE FOR!_ ** **_  
_ ** **_  
_ ** **_P.P.S. THE STRAWBERRIES AREN’T BAD EITHER._ ** **_  
_ **   
The address given was in the Narrows and he couldn't even begin to figure out what Joker was planning. It could be a trick, but it might not and Bruce would be there but he'd be very,  _ very _ prepared.

Folding the card again, he tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, before wondering where the hell to put the vase. The room didn't seem big enough to hold it, but he eventually settled for a spot in the corner where it could spend the rest of the day tormenting the edges of his vision. Would a phone call have been so fucking hard?

  
Bruce didn't eat the chocolates. There was a moment around lunchtime where he considered it, maybe see if the strawberry and caramel ones were as good as Joker said, but he didn't get the chance. Joker had eaten them all.

-   
  
Gotham’s skies chose to be kind that night. The air was cold and clouds were sparse and moonlight hit the city in a way that almost made it beautiful. Sometimes, when the night was slow, Bruce would spend it on a high rooftop and just gaze out at the sprawling landscape. He really did love this city, despite the filth and corruption that tried to defile every corner of it. Even the Narrows, a place the words filth and corruption seemed to have been made for, had its good points. The buildings here were some of the oldest in Gotham and, left to rot as the wealthier parts of the city were constantly renovated, it'd grown a grotesque sort of beauty all of it's own. Far enough away from the bustle of the city's centre, there was an element of peacefulness that Bruce actually liked and it wasn't unusual for him to come around here just to enjoy it.

  
But sightseeing wasn't on the agenda tonight, as Bruce crouched in the sixth storey window of a derelict warehouse, scanning the area and waiting for Joker to arrive. The note said to be here for nine, but Bruce'd been waiting since eight and, once again, he wished Joker had given him a better idea of what to expect. Bruce was as prepared as he could be, but his stomach was still tight with apprehension. If this was a trap, or worse, a prank - because Lord knew Joker was fond of  _ those _ \- then Bruce was going to come the closest he’d ever been to actually killing him.   
  
The sound of an engine and the crunch of gravel caught Bruce’s attention and he turned his head to see a white van approach. Withdrawing even further into the shadows, he watched as the van came to a stop and five men, all armed, filed out, followed by a sixth Bruce recognised instantly.   
  
Jonathan Crane.   
  
So not a prank, but maybe still a trap? He didn't know what Crane was doing here but it clearly wasn’t legal. Maybe he was heading back into the drugs trade.

  
“What time is it?” Crane asked, voice tinny through the speaker in Bruce’s cowl. 

He was looking all around him, as paranoid as it was possible to be and, when he turned, Bruce saw the straw coloured fabric clutched in his right hand. Bruce's suspicions were right. Jonathan Crane  _ wasn’t _ cured and Bruce was tempted to arrange a little meeting with the Mayor. He just hoped she didn’t shoot him on sight.   
  
The man to Crane’s left - One, Bruce decided to call him - looked at his watch. “Just gone nine.”   
  
Crane nodded and the hand carrying the mask tapped impatiently against his thigh. 

  
“This a good idea, ‘Crow?” a particularly heavy looking man - Two - asked and, although he hid it well, Bruce could tell he was nervous. All of them were. “I mean, the Joker-”

  
“I can control the clown,” Crane cut in. “Just keep your eyes open. He won’t be coming alone.”   
  
Crane’s eyes lifted to scan the rooftops and Bruce’s stomach got even tighter. Did he know?

  
Whistling in the distance grabbed Bruce’s attention and his eyes turned left. With a skip of footsteps a seventh person came into view, but Bruce already knew exactly who it was.

  
“ _ And my head I’d be scratchin’, while my thoughts were busy hatchin’, if I only had a brain! _ ”   
  


Joker finished the song with a spin, purple coattails flying in a wide circle as he stopped a few feet away from Crane, arms outstretched in welcome.   
  
“Scaredy-Crow, how the Devil are you?” he cried, grinning widely.

  
“Joker,” Crane said, tone feigning boredom as his grip on the mask tightened. Without taking his eyes off Joker, he gestured to One and Two. “Check him.”   
  
Joker pressed his hands to his chest. “Oh, now, Hay-Brain, where’s the trust? I thought we were friends!”   
  
He giggled as the two men approached, arms out and wriggling his fingers as Two stopped directly in front of him, gun barrel level with his chest while One took position behind him.   
  
“Remove the coat,” Crane ordered.   
  
“Not even gonna buy me dinner, first?”

  
After a moment of hesitation, One reached for the collar of Joker’s coat and yanked it off his shoulders, flinging it to the ground.   
  
“Careful!” Joker cried. “It's expensive!”   
  
Bruce watched as Joker was checked for any weapons and kept his eyes firmly fixed on him, wondering what the signal might be and when it would appear.

  
“He’s clean,” One said, before stepping away and aiming his gun again.

Crane nodded and took a few steps forward.   
  
“So, Straw-Man,” Joker began, arms dropping to his sides. “What’s the occasion?” His eyes went to the Scarecrow mask and his voice lowered in that way Bruce'd never liked. “Oh, continuing our little  _ sessions _ , are we? I must say, I’ve missed them these last few weeks.”   
  
Sessions? Bruce wasn't sure what that meant but knew it wouldn't be anything good.

  
“Holtz,” Crane called, eyes meeting Two before he nodded again.

  
Holtz transferred his gun from his left hand to right, before hitting Joker square in the jaw. Joker stumbled backwards and fell to the ground and Bruce was ready to leap into action but laughter made him stop.   
  
“Ooh!” Joker cackled and climbed onto his hands and knees. Blood was dripping from his nose. “I like ‘em rough!”   
  
“Again,” Crane ordered.   
  
Holtz kicked Joker in the stomach and he fell to the ground again, wrapping his arms protectively around his middle and it took a minute of wheezing before he was able to speak again.   
  
“Oh, Sweetie, you’ve done this before!”   
  
Holtz kicked him a second time and when Joker kept quiet - not through choice - Crane moved closer, followed by the three other gunmen.

  
“Hold him down.”

  
After pushing Joker onto his back, Holtz held him in place with his foot and Crane looked down at him.   
  
“We can continue our sessions in just a moment if you like,” he said, tone bordering on conversational. “But, first, I need to know what you’ve told the Batman.”   
  
Bruce’s entire body was unbearably tight but Joker still hadn’t given him the signal and he hoped it wouldn’t be much longer because this was already getting out of hand.

  
Joker smiled. “Told him? I haven’t told the Bat anything.”   
  
Sometimes - although he never really admitted it - Bruce admired Joker’s wordplay. He  _ hadn't  _ told Bruce anything, he'd  _ shown  _ him. But right now Bruce wanted to hit the clown himself. This was a sure fire way to earn himself a proper beating.

Crane huffed and clicked his fingers. Joker was dragged to his feet and another fist sent him straight into the arms of One, who held him in place as another round of blows hit his stomach.

  
The brutality unnerved Bruce for more than one reason and he reached for the sonic remote tucked into the heel of his boot. Forget the signal, this meeting was over. Whatever information Crane had Bruce could get later. For now, confirming he wasn’t anywhere close to being cured was enough. 

  
Despite the pain he must've been in, Joker was  _ still _ laughing and the blood now filling his mouth made the giggles gurgle.

  
“Always did like…a little…slap ‘n’ tickle,” he said, dissolving into laughter again as the blood ran down his chin.   
  
Another hit and he was back on the ground and, even without seeing his face, Bruce could tell Crane was pissed. “Hit him until he talks!”   
  


If only that sort of thing worked with Joker. Using every inch of the free reign they'd been given, the men carried on hitting him, kicking, punching, slapping, whatever got the loudest reaction and throughout it all the laughter never stopped. Bruce knew the frustration the men must've been feeling. He'd felt it himself far too often and that made watching it even worse. Bruce switched on the remote.   
  
Eventually, one of the Joker’s hands lifted in a sign of surrender and, after allowing a couple more hits, Crane ordered the men to stop.   
  
“Ready to talk, Clown?”   
  
“Y-yes,” Joker said, his voice so hoarse that Bruce had to turn up the volume of the speaker just to hear him.

  
“Seriously?” Crane asked.

  
Joker nodded. “A girl…can only take…so much.”   
  
“Get him on his knees.”   
  
Joker was manoeuvred into position but unable to keep himself upright and ended up on all fours. He swayed a little from side to side as drops of blood gathered on the ground beneath him and Crane watched him, before stepping closer and crouching down to his level.   
  
A shadow flew overhead and Holtz looked up. His eyes went to One but he got nothing more than a shrug in return.

  
“Speak,” Crane said to Joker, oblivious to what was happening. He began fiddling with the mask and Bruce knew what he was planning to do.   
  
Joker’s head was bowed, face invisible under a messy mop of green as his shoulders started to shake and at first, it looked as though he was crying. But when deep throaty giggles filtered into the air, Bruce had to suppress a shiver. He  _ hated _ that sound. It was always followed by something awful.

A second shadow flew above the group, followed by a squeal and, this time, it wasn’t just Holtz who looked up.   
  
“Crane?” Holtz said.

  
“What?”   
  
“I think we’ve got trouble.”   
  
As if on cue, the squeal came again but it wasn’t singular this time. It echoed off every surface, from the walls of the buildings to the ground beneath their feet and, as if to compete, Joker’s laughter grew, bringing Crane’s attention back to him.   
  
“What’s so funny, clown?”   
  
Joker finally looked up. A grin of pure hatred spread across his face. “You should have killed me when you had the chance.”   
  
And with speed and strength he shouldn't have had, Joker lunged forward, arms looping tightly around Crane’s neck before his mouth went to his throat. Crane yowled as teeth buried themselves into his skin, tearing at the flesh and drawing blood.   
  
At the same time, a cloud of black swept across the sky as a cacophony of shrieks and beating wings drowned out any other sound. The men ducked instinctively, some trying to aim their guns, but it was impossible when they were so overwhelmed. 

Bruce jumped as someone screamed.   
  
Although they were confused by the herd of bats swarming them, the gunmen knew  _ exactly _ who Bruce was and three of them aimed, while the other two were still trying to get their bearings. Dodging fire as best he could, Bruce knocked out Holtz, before wrenching the weapon out of his hands and swinging it to smack another gunman across the face. Two rounds of gunfire rattled Bruce’s ears and he ducked, rolling across the ground before reaching the third shooter and sending his face into the nearest wall. 

A revving engine meant Crane had escaped and Bruce let out a curse. Once again, Crane would have to wait.

More rounds of bullets came and a couple grazed Bruce’s arm as he dove for cover behind the nearest building. The bats had been the perfect distraction, but the surprise had worn off and, although the gunmen's vision was still obscured, their weapons were aimed in Bruce's direction. He knew he wouldn’t be able to rush the two men without sustaining significant damage to himself, so it was time for a new diversion.   
  
Bruce was poised, ready to hurl the smoke pellets, when he caught something in the corner of his eye. Across from him, a figure was on the ground, trying to crawl backwards on hands and knees and Bruce recognised Joker right away but couldn't figure out what the hell he was doing. He was right in the way, a prime target for those guns and Joker never had a huge regard for personal safety but this was pushing it.

When the shots fired again, Bruce realised the scream he'd heard earlier came from  _ Joker _ and he watched, barely able to believe what he was seeing as Joker froze, hands covering his ears, shaking, cowering. But there wasn't time for questions because the gunmen had also heard the scream and Bruce launched the smoke pellets at the ground by their feet. Blinded by the attack, Bruce barrelled forwards, knocking the weapons from their hands and smashing their skulls together. They slumped to the ground in an unconscious heap.   
  
He heard sirens and knew it was time to leave. He ran to Joker, crouched and grabbed his arm to lift him up, but Joker started thrashing, trying to kick him away.

Bruce tried calling his name but it didn't work and it took a surprising amount of effort to pin down his arms and legs as he called his name a second time. It took a minute, but when Joker’s eyes finally landed on Bruce, they went wide.

  
“Bat!” he gasped, followed by a noise Bruce could only describe as some sort of giggly sob and Bruce released him to aim the grapple gun, but  arms were instantly around his neck. Bruce tensed but Joker wasn't attacking. His hands simply gripped the cape and held on for dear life.   
  
The sirens were getting louder and, wrapping an arm around Joker’s waist, Bruce looked up, aimed for the roof of the building he’d just jumped from and fired.   
  
-   
  
Bruce had seen Joker do and be many things, but nothing like  _ this _ . His entire body was twitching and trembling, gaze flitting around wildly as he muttered and babbled to himself, and Bruce'd literally had to pry those bony white fingers off his cape just to get him in the car. Joker was  _ terrified.  _ And the fact that Crane’s toxin had managed to drive him to this state meant Bruce was, too.

Tapping the commlink in his cowl, Bruce called Alfred to update him and didn't need to see the old man’s face to know he wasn't happy about the idea of having Joker in the cave. Bruce wasn't either but he didn't have time to come up with a better plan and told Alfred to have a shot ready for when they arrived.

  
Next to him, Joker had the heel of his palms pressed tightly over his eyes as he frantically shook his head.

“No!” he whispered, grabbing his hair and tugging it.   
  
“Joker,” Bruce began.

“ _ No _ !”   
  
Bruce wasn’t sure who Joker was shouting at or why but when he started smacking his head with his fists, Bruce knew he needed to subdue him before he did some serious damage. He reached over to grab Joker’s arms and when he started smacking his head against the window, Bruce switched the car to autopilot. He was going to need both hands for this.

Joker immediately went back to hair pulling and he snarled when Bruce's hands closed around his wrists to pull them down. He struggled against the grip, eyes squeezing shut as his head whipped from side to side, until Bruce gathered both wrists in one hand and gripped Joker’s chin with the other, turning it to face him.   
  
“Joker,” Bruce said, voice firm but calm.

  
Hearing his voice, Joker’s eyes opened and it took them a while to settle, but when they did recognition came quickly, along with that same strangled giggle-sob.   
  
“B-Bat,” he whispered, voice as unsteady as his limbs. His eyes were huge, pupils wildly dilated as tears ran down his cheeks and his breath came in short sharp gasps. This was one hell of a toxin, which made the awareness and determination still there in Joker’s eyes all the more incredible. Whatever damage the poison was trying to do, Joker was doing his damndest to fight it.   
  
“Yes, it’s me,” Bruce said.   
  
“Bat, Bat, Bat,” Joker continued, fists curling and opening rapidly.   
  
“Yes,” Bruce repeated. “It’s me, I’m here and you're safe.”   
  
Joker grimaced and tried to shake his head but Bruce held his jaw in place, grip tight but not enough to hurt.

  
“Joker,” Bruce called again. “ _ You are safe _ .” 

He said each word slowly and clearly in the hopes that they'd somehow resonate, but Joker tried shaking his head again and Bruce forced him to keep looking in his direction. He didn't know if Joker was shaking his head to what Bruce was saying or the nightmares attacking his mind and his hands tried to swing up again, but Bruce pushed them back down.   
  
“Safe,” Bruce repeated yet again. He needed that word in particular to stick in Joker’s mind. “Understand?”   
  
Joker's eyes took in every inch of Bruce's face, their movement jerky and frenzied and Bruce wasn't sure just how much they were taking in, but eventually Joker nodded. 

Bruce carefully let go of his chin but waited a while longer before releasing his wrists. When he finally did, Joker's hands didn't go back to his hair, but instead latched onto Bruce, fingers digging in hard to Bruce's gloves and, for the rest of the journey, Joker clung on, eyes refusing to leave Bruce's face, eye contact broken only when blinking became an absolute necessity. 

Bruce wasn't able to hold those eyes for long and decided to start going through all the injuries on Joker’s face. There was a lot of blood. Streaming from his nose and mouth, it covered almost the entire lower half of his face, although some of it could've been lipstick, it was hard to tell. And what wasn’t covered in red was blemished shadows that promised to bloom into nasty bruises over the next few hours.   
  


It'd been a horrible beating and what made it worse was that Joker went through it deliberately. Bruce struggled to see the point when Joker could've just told him instead and he hoped the chance to get answers wouldn’t be too far away.

  
Joker was quiet by the time they reached the manor, grip going slacking and Bruce pushed the gas pedal even harder. This was the part where the toxin really started to take hold and it was now a race to get back to the cave. If Joker could hold on just a little bit longer...

  
Bruce didn't waste any time getting them out of the car as soon as they were inside and was glad to see Alfred nowhere in sight as he led Joker towards the desk on the far side. He wanted interaction between those two kept to an absolute minimum. 

Under his hands, Bruce could feel the tremors running through Joker’s body and, although he couldn't feel it through the gloves, knew Joker must've been freezing. All he had on his top half was a shirt and vest and they weren't designed to keep out the October chill, but it had to be pushed to second place on his list of priorities. Antidote first, warmth later.

They stopped at the desk and Joker’s eyes were everywhere, taking in the new surroundings. Bruce let go of him to reach for the antitoxin and Joker’s eyes followed but when he saw what Bruce was about to grab, all the frenzy and mania that’d started to slip away returned full force. He shouted and bucked and, surprised by the sudden movement, Bruce’s grip on the antitoxin slipped and it clattered to the floor. Joker slammed his back against Bruce’s chest, legs kicking out as if he was trying to keep someone or something at bay and, for a second, Bruce wondered if Joker was trying to get away from  _ him _ . But he was still holding on to Bruce as tightly as ever, so, if it wasn’t him, what was it?

  
Bruce tried to lower them both so he could grab the antitoxin again, but Joker’s thrashing made it impossible and letting go of him, even for a second, definitely wasn’t an option. Not only did Bruce not want a raving lunatic running loose in the cave, but Joker absolutely refused to let go of him. It seemed the only choice, yet again, was to try and calm him down, although Bruce wasn’t sure how easy it’d be this time.   
  
Wrapping both arms securely around Joker to try and keep him still, Bruce spoke quietly into his ear. “It's alright, just calm down.”   
  
“No, no, no!” Joker snarled, head shaking wildly.   
  
“Yes,” Bruce said, struggling to keep him in place. Joker always had been stronger than he looked. “You need to calm down.”   
  
Joker snarled again and continued to resist and Bruce was forced to tighten his grip. He didn’t want to hurt him, but he was running out of options. 

“You need to keep still,” Bruce said. “So that I can give you the shot.”   
  
It was the wrong thing to say.

“ _ No _ !” Joker screamed and he bucked again, sending the pair of them to the floor.

  
It was mainly luck that let them land without hurting themselves and Bruce only just managed to keep his hold on Joker as they sprawled on floor. At least Bruce knew what was wrong now, but it didn’t make things any easier. How could he give Joker the shot if he turned into a rabid animal anytime it came near him?   
  
“Alright, alright,” Bruce said, trying to placate him.   
  
Joker ignored him and, in the end, Bruce had to pin his legs down with his own. Joker threw his back against Bruce's chest but Bruce just held him even tighter, pinning his arms to his sides and hair hit Bruce’s face as Joker swung his head left to right, the snarls and cries still falling from his lips.   
  
“Listen to me,” Bruce eventually demanded. “Joker,  _ listen _ !”   
  
He had to say it three more times before Joker finally stopped and Bruce waited to make sure the relative calm would last before he spoke again.   
  
“Joker,” he began, voice quieter but still firm. “You’ve been poisoned. I have the antidote, but you have to let me administer it.”   
  
“No,” Joker said immediately.   
  
“Why?”   
  
Joker tried moving his legs, but Bruce kept them locked in place and repeated his question. Joker refused to answer, struggling to get out of Bruce’s grip, fingers trying to pry his hands away, but Bruce wasn’t going to give in and he asked his question a third time. If Joker didn’t want the antidote, Bruce was going to need a very good reason.   
  
“ _ Needles _ !” Joker hissed with so much venom that Bruce almost flinched and he immediately rewound to when they were on the roof of Cobblepot’s club, Bruce holding Joker by the scruff of the neck, threatening to take him back to Arkham, Joker reply with the same fury he did now by meeting Bruce’s threat with a suicidal one of his own.

  
Arkham. Something was happening there, something terrible enough to reduce one of the most terrifying men Bruce'd ever known to  _ this  _ state. And Crane was involved. Bruce wasn’t sure how or why, but he was going to find out as soon as possible.   
  
Readjusting his grip to make it more comfortable, Bruce spoke again. “Joker, I’m not going to hurt you.”   
  
Joker was still shaking his head.   
  
“Joker,” Bruce said again. “Please, trust me.”   
  
Joker took a deep shaky breath and his fingers stopped trying to remove Bruce’s hands and wrapped tightly around his wrists again. He was still trembling. 

“I’m not…taking…the shot!” he said, determination clear even if it was an effort to get the words out.   
  
“Nothing bad will happen, I swear,” Bruce insisted. He was trying to be patient, but Joker was a mess. He needed the antitoxin  _ now _ . “It’ll let you sleep off the effects.”   
  
“No!” Joker was shaking his head frantically again. “Sleep…sleep is worse.”   
  
“You can’t fight this by yourself.” 

“Yes I -” Joker’s words were cut off as he slammed his back against Bruce again. But he wasn’t fighting Bruce this time, it was something else, something only he could see. “I  _ can _ !”

Bruce felt sick. He’d had plenty of run ins himself with Crane’s fear gas and each one’d been enough to knock him out of commission for days. And that was  _ after  _ taking the antitoxin. He didn’t even want to imagine going through it without and there was no way he’d let Joker do the same when the antidote was right there.

  
He managed to slip one arm out of Joker’s grip and leaned to the side, but Joker’s eyes, impossibly perceptive even in this condition, caught what he was doing and his hands shot out, pulling Bruce’s arm back to him.   
  
“No!” Joker kicked the antidote out of reach. “I d-don’t…don’t want it!”   
  
“Joker -”   
  
“ _ I don’t want it! _ ” 

Joker’s trembling and breathing were getting worse.

“It could kill you if you don’t!” 

It was blunt, but he needed Joker to  _ understand. _ This stuff really could kill him and Bruce was ready to pin Joker down and inject him anyway.

  
“Don’t make me,” Joker said, his voice suddenly softer, quieter,  _ pleading _ . Joker didn’t plead often. “Don’t make…me take it.”   
  


It threw Bruce and he tried to think of something, some argument that’d finally make Joker give in. But what? Trying to calm him down wasn't working and even the threat of death wasn’t enough to convince him and Bruce tried to ignore the icy chill that came with the thought of Joker dying. No, that wasn't going to happen, he wouldn't let it.

Bruce opened his mouth for one final argument, but Joker beat him to it.

  
“Please.”

Barely above a whisper, that one word Joker almost never used was more powerful than any shout and when it was said like that, Bruce couldn't bring himself to say no. He let out a long sigh.

“Alright,” he finally said. “But can you really fight this?”   
  
Joker nodded. “Not my…first…rodeo.”   
  
That wasn’t any comfort whatsoever.

“So, what do we do?” Bruce asked. He'd had dealt with victims of fear gas before, but antitoxin had always been involved, letting them sleep the poison out of their system. He’d never guided someone through it this way and he knew it wasn’t going to be easy.   
  
“Just-” Joker began, but was cut off by another hallucination. He screwed his eyes shut and lowered his head to one of Bruce’s gauntlets and Bruce was afraid he was going to start hitting himself again but he didn’t. Instead, Joker pressed his forehead tightly against the Kevlar and took a deep breath. “Just… _ stay _ .”   
  
“Alright, ” Bruce said, ignoring the twist in his stomach. “But we’ll have to move. Not far, just to there.” He nodded to the desk.   
  
“W-why?” Joker asked sharply.   
  
“So that I can lean against the table,” Bruce explained. “I assume this is going to take a while. I need to make us as comfortable as I can.”   
  
Joker nodded and Bruce slid them both sideways. It would’ve probably been better to find somewhere more comfortable but by this point Bruce was tired and if Joker proved unable to fight the toxin, the antidote was close enough to grab. 

When they were in position, Bruce managed to talk Joker into letting go for a minute so he could remove the cowl and the feel of the cave’s cool air hitting his face was a blessed relief. He ran his hand roughly through his hair and pushed it back from his eyes, before dropping the cowl to the floor unclipping the cape.  
  
“W-what…are you…doing?”  
  
“Keeping you warm,” Bruce said. He may not’ve been able to give Joker the antidote, but he could do this at least.  
  
It took some rearranging but, eventually, the cape was free and Bruce started wrapping it around Joker before his arms went around him again. And for a long time after, neither of them said or did anything except sit there listening to the soft beeps and whirs of electronics and the occasional high-pitched chirp of the bats hanging above them.  
  
Bruce’s eyes went to Joker’s face, watching as he continued to fight the toxin, trembling, snarling and growling softly in his lap and sweat damp strands of hair dangled in front of Joker’s eyes, which, on some unnameable impulse, Bruce decided to brush out of the way. Those acid green eyes twisted Bruce’s way and their gazes met for a second, before Joker looked forwards again.  
  
Bruce lowered his arm and fidgeted once more before settling down for what was going to be a _very_ long night.  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I apologise for the delay in posting this chapter. I've had a bit of a struggle with it. Unfortunately, my beta and soundboard is currently unavailable, so I've had to do this one all by myself. I've been as thorough as I can checking through it, but apologise for any mistakes I might have missed.

The cave was Bruce's favourite part of the manor. In fact, it was probably his favourite part of Gotham. His little slice of solitude, free from prying eyes and fake smiles and all the other awkwardness that came with being around other people. Just he, himself and him, alone and distraction free. The closest thing to heaven Bruce could imagine.

  
So, he wasn't all that thrilled about suddenly having to share and of all the people to share it with, it had to be the loudest, most obnoxious person in existence. A person who wouldn't know peace or quiet if it came and kicked him up the ass.

Except for right now, that is. Joker was sound asleep on the cot in the corner of the cave and it was a novelty to see him so quiet and still. He spent most of his time bouncing around like a deranged jack-in-the-box, running on seemingly limitless energy and Bruce'd never known if it was fuelled by insanity or some supernatural force, but any kind of interaction between them always left him exhausted. So Bruce should be glad to see Joker this way. But he wasn't. 

  
“It may have escaped your notice, but there  _ are _ beds in this house.”   
  
The metal tray landing on the table pulled Bruce back into the room and he sat straighter, making space on the table for his breakfast.

  
“Not visiting the office today, then?” Alfred continued, clearly in a chatty mood.

  
“No,” Bruce said, rubbing his eyes and holding out his hand for the mug of coffee. “I’ve taken the rest of the week off.”   
  
Alfred nodded. “Well, I assume you’ve already got one, but should you need a cover story, the Gotham Herald has been most obliging.”   
  
Alfred took the newspaper from the tray, turned to one of the middle pages and dropped it next to the laptop in front of Bruce. He glanced at the headline -  _ Billionaire elopes with mystery man  _ \- but didn't read the article and  _ definitely  _ didn't look at the pictures. But Alfred clearly had.

“You two look rather cosy.”

  
“Well he threatened to kill a room full of people, otherwise.” Bruce replied. “And it wasn’t  _ cosy _ .”   
  
“Of course, sir” the old man said, his eyes going to the laptop playing the surveillance feed from the cave. “Well, at least people will finally stop asking why you haven’t found yourself a wife, yet.”   
  
“Yeah,” Bruce sighed, rubbing his eyes again. “They’ll just ask why I haven't got a husband, instead.”   
  
Desperate to end the conversation, Bruce started digging into his breakfast and didn't leave a single bit of it untouched. He knew was going to need all the energy he could get today.

  
On the surveillance feed Joker was still fast asleep and Bruce couldn't help feeling just a little bit jealous. He'd barely had  _ any  _ sleep after spending hours down there with him, waiting for the toxin to run its course, and as soon as Joker’s eyes had finally closed, Bruce wasted no time putting him to bed. He'd also given Joker a quick examination to check his injuries, but luck apparently favoured him because he’d suffered nothing worse than a fractured rib and lots of bruising. 

After that, Bruce had removed the suit and gone up to his own bed, but he hadn't gone to sleep. There was far too much keeping him awake and after a third hour of staring at the ceiling, Bruce'd given up, deciding to set up the surveillance feed on his laptop, both to check Joker didn't suffer any more adverse affects from the toxin and to make sure he didn't cause any trouble.

  
The problem facing Bruce now, though, was deciding what to do with him. There’d been no time for planning last night and it didn't take long to realise how limited his options were. Arkham was a no-go and so was Blackgate. The prison could barely contain regular criminals, let alone a man like Joker. And Bruce couldn't really think of anywhere else he'd consider safe enough to hold him, so it seemed that, for the time being, the cave was going to have to do.

He'd already taken precautions. As well as surveillance, Bruce increased the security on the cave’s computers and he'd restrained Joker. It wasn't anything especially clever, just chains attached to the wall behind the cot that gave him enough room to move about but kept him away from anything important. He'd wondered at first whether to go that far because, because he knew it was the sensible thing to do, bit still wasn't sure if he  _ should _ . After the night Joker’d had, finding himself in chains was hardly going to be a pleasant wake up call and didn't exactly set the right tone for the beginning of a truce, but one thought of Alfred gave Bruce the resolve he needed. He'd risk a bad mood from Joker any day if it kept the old man safe.

  
“I do believe our guest is waking up,” Alfred said, cutting into Bruce's thoughts again.

  
Bruce leaned forward and watched as Joker started fidgeting under the blankets, movement sluggish and clumsy to begin with, but when he finally managed to roll onto his back, Bruce grabbed a small bundle of clothing, a bottle of water and a pack of very strong painkillers and tried to prepare himself for whatever was to come.

  
The metallic whines of the elevator echoed loudly throughout the cave, giving Joker plenty of warning for Bruce's arrival and Joker didn't seem in any way worried about where he was or why. He just laid there with his arm up as he looked at the cuff on his wrist, giving it a shake to make the chain rattle. 

Bruce felt Joker’s eyes on him as he approached the desk and spent a lot longer than necessary putting the stuff he carried onto the desk, wondering what the hell to do or say next. This was completely new for both of them and being without the suit only made it worse. He’d spent almost twenty years facing Joker as Batman and didn't have a clue how to do it any other way.

  
Joker, of course, was the first to break the silence.

  
“I see my reputation precedes me,” he said, voice hoarse from lack of use. “First a pat-down from Hay-Brain’s crows and now this.” He rattled the chain again.   
  
After a final moment to brace himself, Bruce turned. Joker was still lounging as casually as before, but his arm was now draped over his stomach rather than sticking up in the air.

  
“It’s a precaution,” Bruce said, crossing his arms.   
  
“Paranoid much?”   
  
“Well, you've killed three people,” Bruce reminded him. “And threatened the lives of at least a hundred more. And that was in the space of a week.”   
  


Joker snorted softly. “Considering those three men were assassins trying to  _ kill you _ and the others were completely unharmed, I'd say you're being rather ungrateful.”   
  


Bruce could've argued that Joker had a long way to go before he understood the definition of gratitude, but didn't bother. He still hadn't decided whether he was more relieved that Joker had kept his word at the gala or annoyed that he'd been duped by an empty threat. 

  
“You’re  _ here _ ,” Bruce said, pointing to the cave around them. This would be as far as gratitude went for the moment.

“Yes, where is  _ here _ , anyway?” he asked, eyes followed the movement of Bruce's finger. They widened and his face lit up. “Oh, we’re  _ not _ ...are we?” A theatrical gasp. “We  _ are _ !” He laughed, a dry, raspy sound. “Well, well, well, I finally get to see where the Batman hangs his cape...and it’s every bit as morose as I thought it’d be. Dread to think what the upstairs looks like. Gomez and Morticia would feel right at home, I imagine.”

  
More laughter and Bruce resisted the urge to close his eyes and count to ten. He hadn't had anywhere near enough sleep for any of this, so he turned to the desk and opened the box of pills.

Joker watched in silence as Bruce approached.

  
“I need to check your injuries,” Bruce said. “Can you get up?”   
  
Joker studied the pills in Bruce's palm before carefully levering himself upright, but a wave of dizziness hit and he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes to fight it off, before shaking his head with a giggle. He may not've been the trembling mess of last night, but Joker was still a long way from his usual self. After a bit of struggle, he managed to get to his feet and looked at Bruce expectantly.   
  
“Where do you want me?”

  
“There is fine,” Bruce said. “But you’ll need to unbutton your shirt.”   
  
Joker’s hands went to his collar but he stopped and looked back up at Bruce. “Didn’t wanna finish what you started?” he asked, noticing that his waistcoat was missing.   
  
Bruce ignored the comment and focused on unscrewing the cap of the water bottle as the blood-stained shirt gradually opened. It was one thing examining Joker when he was unconscious, but doing it under the scrutiny of those eyes was something else entirely. When the shirt was undone, Bruce held out the pills but Joker didn't take them.

  
“Painkillers.” Bruce said, although he was pretty sure Joker already knew that. “For your rib.”   
  
Joker’s eyes narrowed and there was something in them close to what’d been there when he saw the injector jet last night. Bruce wondered just how much he remembered. And as Joker continued to stare, Bruce kept still, making it clear Joker had a choice. It'd be rough for him without the pills but he wasn't going to force them on him, especially not after last night. But then Joker's hand shot out to snatch the pills as the other grabbed the bottle of water and he swallowed them in one go.

“I’m going to check you over now, alright?”   
  
Joker tilted his head back for another long swig of water and held his arm out of the way to signify consent and Bruce carefully parted the two halves of the shirt to assess the damage. Joker’s body was littered with marks both old and new, fresh bruises already mottling the pale skin, but the worst by far was the large patch of reddish purple covering the lower ribs on the left side. It was ugly but expected so Bruce wasn't too worried. What did worry him though was just how  _ thin _ Joker was. He'd never been stocky but this was probably the smallest Bruce'd ever seen him and, before he could stop himself, Bruce pressed his hand gently against his protruding ribcage. Muscles twitched at the contact and he quickly moved his hand away.   
  
“You’ve lost weight,” he said, walking back over to the desk.   
  
“Good of you to notice. It’s a new diet I’ve been trying. I call it the  _ Eat-Only-When-You’ve-Stopped-Dribbling-Like-A-Rabid-Squirrel-Long-Enough-To-Swallow _ plan. Very effective.”   
  
Bruce assumed it was a reference to the asylum and was about to ask when the sound of an empty bottle hitting the floor startled him, and his head whipped round to see Joker giving the injuries his own assessment.

  
“Crow’s boys certainly didn’t hold back, did they?” he said, before winking at Bruce. “But I’ve had better.”   
  
“And you know how dangerous that was, don’t you?”   
  
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Joker dismissed with a wave of his hands, before buttoning up his shirt. “I knew you’d be there.”   
  
“And if I wasn’t?”   
  
Joker gave Bruce a look. As if Bruce wouldn't have been.

“They could have  _ killed _ you.” Joker’s blatant disregard for his own welfare had always irritated him. 

“But they  _ didn’t _ ,” Joker reminded him. “You swooped down like a knight in shining Kevlar and saved the day.” He started fiddling with the cuff on his wrist, resentment creeping in. “Although Jonny Boy managed to get away.”

  
Bruce crossed his arms again. “Well I was kind of distracted by the men with guns.”   
  


And Joker.

  
“Never mind,” Joker shrugged. “At least now you know Scaredy-Pants is up to something. Not the sane, pompous little prick that’s been gurning all over the news this week.” He paused and tilted his head. “Actually, he  _ is _ a pompous little prick, but definitely not sane!”   
  
The bark of laughter echoed off the cave’s walls, but it didn’t really register. Bruce was still too busy thinking about last night.

“You could have just  _ told _ me,” he said.   
  
“Ah, but would you have believed me?” Joker asked, rattling the chains yet again.   
  
Bruce wanted to say he would but it would've been a lie and they both knew it so silence fell between them and Bruce rubbed his hands over his face, feeling every single one of his forty four years and then some. Joker, meanwhile, placed his hands on the small of his back and slowly arched as much as his injuries would let him, tilting his head from side to side to stretch the muscles of his neck. There were several loud pops and a hiss told Bruce they were as painful as they sounded and the pair of them looking and sounding like geriatrics might've been funny under different circumstances.

“I don’t suppose you’d be a darling and pass me a chair, would you?” Joker asked. “I’d rather not struggle back down onto the bed.”   
  
Bruce grabbed one of the chairs from the desk, picking up the discarded water bottle as he went.   
  
“Much obliged, dear,” Joker sighed, lowering himself carefully onto the seat. He tried slouching but his rib forced him to sit straighter and he tilted his head back to run his fingers through his hair. “So what happens now?”   
  
Bruce had spent an entire night wondering the same thing and still hadn't come up with an answer. All he knew was he had  a lot of questions and needed some answers. And he was hoping Joker would have some. But as Bruce looked him up and down, he knew the questions would have to wait. His clothes were a mess and so was he, caked in dirt, blood and sweat and the least Bruce could do was wait until Joker was clean and comfortable before interrogating him.

  
“First of all you need a shower.” And then, as an afterthought, added, “And food.”   
  
Joker’s eyes brightened and he pointed upwards. “Ooh, does that mean I’ll get a tour?”

  
“No. The shower’s over there.”   
  
Bruce nodded to his right and Joker turned in his seat to look over at a section of the cave that was tucked away.   
  
“So the Batcave comes with an ensuite, eh?”   
  
Joker turned back to face Bruce and shook his wrists yet again. The metallic rattle was starting to grate and he could tell Joker knew it.

  
“You do realise that these are gonna have to come off if I’m gonna change.” A suggestive grin spread across Joker’s face. “Unless you plan to keep me here chained and naked, you kinky devil!”

Joker’s cackle reverberated off the walls and sounded far too loud in Bruce’s ears. At least he knew the toxin hadn't done any permanent damage. A part of him almost regretted it.   
  
“I’m aware,” Bruce said, holding back a sigh. He wouldn’t rise to the bait. He  _ wouldn’t _ . Instead, he reached for the bundle of clothing and walked over to him. “They’ll come off for the shower, but go straight back on as soon as you’re done.”   
  
“Spoilsport,” Joker mumbled and stood up.   
  
He took the clothes and immediately gave them a thorough assessment. They weren't anything special, just a black shirt and pants and by the look on his face, Joker clearly found Bruce Wayne's fashion taste sorely lacking.   
  
“Black,” he said unenthusiastically, eyes quickly taking in the outfit Bruce was wearing. “What a surprise. Don’t suppose you have anything purple?”   
  
“That’s more your thing,” Bruce said. 

  
Joker chuckled before his expression turned sour. “That reminds me, those brutes owe me a new coat!” He dropped the clothes onto the chair and held his arms out. “Well, best get on with it, then.”

  
Bruce felt his pulse sped up and, pulling the key out of his trouser pocket, his entire body tensed as he unlocked the cuffs. Joker was about to be loose in the cave. He may be in a weakened state but that sort of thing had never stopped him in the past and it meant Bruce'd need to keep an extra close eye on him until he was chained up again. Not ideal as he was about to spend the next ten to twenty minutes completely naked.

The cuffs landed on the floor with a loud clang and Joker started walking in the direction of the shower, Bruce following closely behind and, although his eyes were firmly fixed on the clown, it still caught him off guard when Joker suddenly span and stamped his foot on the floor. Bruce immediately fell into a defensive stance and something between a laugh and hiss fell out of Joker’s mouth.   
  
“I hope that was worth it,” Bruce scowled.

“Absolutely,” Joker said, clutching his rib, voice strained but still giggling. 

This truce was going to be hard work.

Everything in the cave had been built with one purpose in mind, practicality, and the shower was no exception and Bruce found himself wishing he'd had the foresight to give it some kind of door or a screen. But then he'd never expected the cave to have guests. So, unwilling to actually watch but refusing to take his eyes off Joker completely, Bruce stood a few feet away and faced sideways as Joker washed.

  
“Y’know, a new coat  _ would _ be lovely,” Joker said, voice raised to be heard over the rush of water. “If you were considering a thank you gift.”   
  
Bruce didn't answer and from the corner of his eye saw Joker pout.

“Ungrateful wretch. And after I got you those lovely flowers, too!”   
  
Bruce thought of the floral monstrosity still occupying the corner of his office and wondered if Michelle had thrown them out yet. He really hoped so. And remembering the unusual colours, he asked, “Why blue?”

Joker looked over his shoulder. “You're the detective. Figure it out.”

  
The water switches off and served as the full stop for their very brief conversation on floristry - a new one for them - and Joker stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. 

As they walked back to the chair, Bruce got a glimpse of all the bruises covering Joker’s back and it wasn’t a pretty sight, but even worse was the prominence of his spine. The sooner he got fed, the better. Then, without warning, Joker dropped the towel and Bruce saw a whole lot more of him than he expected and he quickly looked away, willing himself not to react.  _ Rise above it, Bruce. Rise  _ above  _ it _ .

  
“I daresay you could do with losing a few pounds, yourself, dearest,” Joker said when he was finally dressed, thumb hooked into the waistband of the trousers. “Although I take back what I said earlier. The clothes may not be stylish, but they  _ are _ comfy!”   
  
Bruce said nothing and moved forward to grab the cuffs. He wondered if Joker might use the opportunity to play another silly prank but he didn't and, when Bruce straightened, Joker had his arms out ready, wriggling his fingers.   
  
“Clap ‘im in irons, Chief!”   
  


-

  
“How’s our guest holding up?” Alfred asked as Bruce walked into the kitchen.   
  
A total pain in the ass.

“As well as you’d expect.”

Bruce reached for the tray of food Alfred had prepared. It wasn't anything fancy, just soup and several slices of bread. A simple meal, easily digested because there was no telling when Joker had last eaten.

“I considered tea or coffee,” Alfred said, nodding to the bottle of water beside the food. “But thought it wise to avoid caffeine. And hot liquids.”

  
Bruce felt the corner of his lips almost raise into a smile. Alfred may not have known the Joker as well as Bruce, but he knew enough to avoid potentially dangerous situations, which was why they were also giving him plastic cutlery instead of metal. He lifted the tray and thanked Alfred before heading back down.

  
Joker was drying his hair when Bruce returned, eyes peeking through the strands to watch as the tray of food was placed on the table in front of the cot. He stood and Bruce was ready to move the chair for him, but, apparently deciding to prove he wasn’t entirely helpless, Joker dropped the towel and dragged the chair over himself.   
  
He took a long deep sniff of the soup before his eyes spotted the spoon. Lifting it delicately with his thumb and forefinger, he twisted it this way and that, eyes raking over it like he'd never seen one before. Then he looked at the bowl - also plastic - and tapped it a few times before dropping the spoon back onto the tray. He rested his elbows on the table and smiled.

  
“I once killed a man with a plastic spoon,” Joker said in a voice all sweetness and light. “Do you remember?”   
  
Bruce did, very well. It was years ago in Arkham and apparently the result of an argument over breakfast. The exact details were never clarified and Joker’s punishment had been an entire two months in solitary.   
  
“So, perhaps it’d be safer to forget the cutlery completely and let me drink the soup from a sippy cup, instead?” Joker said it like he was offering a genuinely helpful suggestion. “Although I’m pretty sure I could turn even  _ that _ into a weapon.”   
  
Bruce didn't reply, just let his eyes meet Joker’s as the clown rested his chin in one hand, that infuriating smile never faltering. Why couldn't he ever make things easy?

Eventually, Joker tore his gaze away and looked down at the food, picking up the spoon and dipping it into the soup. The silence continued and Bruce wasn't sure what to do with himself, whether he'd be welcome at the table or if he should just leave him to eat in peace and although he was burning with questions, he was sorely tempted to go with the latter.

  
“Well, don't be shy, darling,” Joker said, eyes lifting to Bruce quickly before returning to the food. “Take a seat. I know that batty little brain of yours is just  _ dying _ to start asking questions.”

  
Accepting the invitation, Bruce grabbed another seat from the desk and pulled it over to the table, sitting opposite Joker. Where to begin? Bruce decided to start with the reason they were even in this situation in the first place.   
  
“So Crane’s been testing his toxin on you.”

  
“Correctamundo!”   
  
“But I didn’t think they had any effect,” Bruce frowned. “They haven’t in the past.”   
  
“No,” Joker agreed. “But Crane's been a busy boy, y’know. Made full use of those nine months I was locked up, let me tell you!”   
  
“You mean the sessions?”   
  
“Mm-hmm,” Joker nodded, reaching for a piece of bread. “I’ll spare you the gory details but let's just say he's garnered quite the collection of sissy potions and gave each of them a  _ thorough _ trial. And not just on me. All of Arkham was along for the ride!”   
  
“You mean all the patients?”

  
“Yep,” Joker confirmed, popping a piece of bread into his mouth. “Well, most of them, anyway. Although, the very best was saved for yours truly.”   
  
“Why?”   
  
Joker shrugged, reaching for another slice of bread, despite having hardly touched the first. “Maybe he wanted a challenge.” Then Joker carefully leaned forward and Bruce saw a glint in his tired eyes. “Or, maybe, just maybe, they realised that craziness doesn’t automatically equate to stupidity.”   
  


Yeah, that was common mistake leading to the downfall of more than a few who’d dealt with Joker.

“You see, during some of my less  _ coherent _ moments,” Joker continued, the second slice of bread meeting the same fate as the first. “Some of the doctors didn’t find it quite so necessary to keep their voices down. There was one doctor in particular who was at loggerheads with ‘Crow. I think she liked me, you know. Always ranting about ethics and implications, investigations if I died, etcetera, etcetera. Even brought me candy, once! Although that turned out to be laced with sedative. She meant well, though, I'm sure. If only I could remember her name…”   
  
Joker pressed his palm to his forehead and Bruce couldn't tell if this was just for show or if he was genuinely trying to remember, but she shot to the top of Bruce's list. Whether she’d fought for Joker or was simply worried about being found out he didn't know, but there was a good chance she’d be more cooperative than Crane. At least he hoped she would be.

  
“You really can’t remember?”   
  
Joker shook his head. “Sorry sweetums.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “The old noggin was a bit too fried to retain that sort of information. I had to save my brainpower for the important stuff.”   
  


“Such as?”   
  
“Well,” Joker leaned forward again and his voice fell to a stage whisper and Bruce found himself leaning closer, too. “I happen to know they’ve got a  _ heap _ of files stashed away that they’d just hate to fall into bat-shaped hands.”   
  
“How do you know that?”   
  
Joker leaned back and stretched his arms, wrists popping as they twisted before falling loose at his sides. “Because my “escape” may have been orchestrated but I still had to put in  _ some _ effort. Had to hide in a few offices along the way and decided to have a little play on some of their computers.”   
  
Bruce narrowed his eyes. “And you just happened to find these files?”

  
“Well, I was looking for porn, actually!” Joker laughed and Bruce only managed to stop his eyes rolling halfway through doing it. “No, in all seriousness - of which I  _ am _ capable, before you add any more frown lines to that pretty face - I didn’t actually manage to get to them. I was trying to find out what our little scaredy-pants was up to and came across a lovely bunch of encrypted files and, well…you know me; I love a mystery almost as much as Scooby Doo! But computer hacking was never my forte so soon as I got out of the nuthouse, I went to an old buddy of mine and he did all sorts of high tech jiggery-pokery to get the information that I then passed on to you.”   
  
“Was that all of it?”   
  
“Oh, no, no, no,” Joker said, shaking his head. “There was a lot more but he didn’t want to touch the stuff. Said he’d put enough of his ass on the line already. I tried to remind him he had a sizeable ass so surely he could spare a little more, but he didn’t appreciate  _ that _ particular comment.”   
  
Giggles echoed throughout the cave as Bruce started working on a plan. He needed to get a hold of those files and had a pretty good idea for how to do it. He'd need to speak to Lucius though. When his attention came back to the cave, Bruce saw Joker watching him with a smile on his lips.   
  
“You’re  _ plotting _ ,” he said with relish, before clasping his hands together and using them as a chin rest. “Do share.”   
  
Bruce was tempted, seeing the eagerness in those bright green eyes, but there was another question he wanted answered first, one that’d been bugging him for days. “How did you know I’d be at the Iceberg Lounge?”   
  
Joker smacked his lips together. “Y'know, this truce of ours is never gonna work if you don't start to show a little trust.”

  
Bruce ignored him and waited for an answer.   
  
“Oh, if you must know, you stubborn little rodent, I was  _ waiting _ for you.” Joker started stirring his soup again. So far he'd only managed a few spoonfuls. “I knew you’d wanna visit Fish Breath as soon as possible to find out if I was telling porkies.”   
  
“How did you know that?”   
  
“Because I know  _ you _ ,” Joker said, eyes going back to Bruce. “You’re a creature of habit, sweetie. I expected you there, sooner, though. A whole night wasted!”   
  
Bruce didn’t know what to make of the idea that Joker had just been sitting around waiting for Batman to arrive. And to be willing to do it twice.

“Why?”   
  
“Well, I considered talking to Cobblers myself,” Joker explained, after finally swallowing another mouthful of soup. “But we’ve never been what you would call bestest buddies. So I figured, why do all the hard work when you’re always more than happy to oblige? Besides,” Joker leaned closer again. “Would you have believed him if I'd gotten to him first?”   
  
No, probably not. 

  
“So, what did the fat bastard have to say for himself, anyway?”

“Not a lot.” Bruce didn't bother hiding his frustration. “He knew the name of the group trying to kill us, but not the people who put out the hit. Apparently, they’re involved in something big and want us out of the way. Since your knowledge of the hit came from Arkham, the two are obviously connected.”   
  
“Would be a rather big coincidence, wouldn’t it?” Joker agreed. “Also explain why they let me out. No investigations to worry about if I die on the streets, eh?”   
  
Bruce nodded but couldn't help feeling frustrated by the fact that every answer seemed to bring more questions with it. And there was one that'd been on his mind from the start that he still wasn't sure he quite understood.

“It makes sense to release you from Arkham,” he said. “And I get why they want to get rid of Batman. But I don't get why they don't just go for Bruce Wayne. It'd be easier.”

  
“Do you always refer to yourself in the third person?” Joker asked with narrowed eyes. “You’re not going Dent on me, are you?”   
  
Bruce almost glared and Joker sighed again, steering himself back on track.   
  
“Well, isn’t it obvious?” he said, with a wave of his hand. “Do you know how much Batman’s identity is worth? It's one of the most lucrative pieces of information on the market. People are offering six figure sums just to know who the nutter is behind the cowl.”   
  
Well, yeah, Bruce knew that. He also knew about the auctions where people tried to make a quick buck by selling false information about who Batman really was. He'd even gone to some of them to watch how they played out, as well as ensure some poor innocent soul wasn’t hounded by Gotham’s criminal underworld.   
  
“No one’s gonna part with that golden nugget rashly,” Joker continued. “If they ever do, you’ll know it was either for a disgusting amount of cash-” Joker grimaced, clearly appalled anyone would stoop so low. “Or sheer desperation.”   
  
“Well, hopefully neither of those things’ll happen.”   
  
“Yes,” Joker agreed with a wide smile. “Spoil all the fun, otherwise.”   
  
There was a giggle and Bruce paused. Fun? And Joker, who was in the process of dropping the pieces of torn bread into his soup, must’ve sensed a change, because he looked back up at Bruce and asked, “Something wrong?”   
  
“Fun?” Bruce tried to keep his voice steady but it was hard when he was suddenly taken over by a surge of anger. If Joker was talking about the sort of fun Bruce thought he was, then this truce had nothing to do with the offer he'd made nine months ago and Bruce was feeling like an idiot for daring to think it could. “So, when this is all over…what? We just…”   
  
Joker straightened and placed his hands either side of the tray, smile still there but the humour fading. “You need to use full sentences, darling, or I’m not gonna be able to understand you.”   
  
“How long does this truce last, Joker?” 

Bruce hadn’t meant to put so much force into the words, or give truce such a cynical edge, but it was too late to retract it and Joker didn't answer straight away. He just stared, studying Bruce, eyes going over every inch of his face. And the last of the humour, as well as his smile, dropped as his back straightened and his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

  
“This truce lasts for as long as you want it to.”   
  
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”   
  
“It means, my dear Batty-cakes,” and Joker’s voice lowered now too as his eyes fell to the tray. “That maybe, just maybe, our little game could come to an end.”   
  
Bruce frowned.   
  
“That’s right.” Joker slowly leaned back and stretched his arms again, eyes back on Bruce. “And you never know, you might just win.”   
  
And, just like that, the anger evaporated.

  
“Win?” Bruce said, softly.   
  
“Going deaf in your old age?” Joker tapped the side of his head with his knuckles. “You heard me. I’m considering throwing in the towel, of calling it a day, conceding defeat. In other words, I’m considering accepting that ever so gracious offer you made to me all those months ago.”   
  
Bruce went still, not trusting himself to move, think or speak. 

“If the offer still stands, that is.”   


Bruce nodded, but still didn’t say anything. He was overwhelmed by a surge of hope he was desperately trying to contain because  _ considering _ wasn't  _ accepting _ . But it was a step further than he thought they'd been a minute ago.

“But don't go registering the china just yet, cupcake,” Joker said, his sharp voice cutting through Bruce's thoughts. “We still have to get through this little mess, first.” His eyes brightened. “Consider it a trial run. See if we can get through it without throttling each other.”   
  
Bruce wanted to say that they'd almost failed several times on that count already, but Joker winked and his mouth curved into one of his widest grins and his return to humour was a signal that, for now, the subject was closed. 

And Bruce decided he'd asked enough questions for one day. With everything he'd learned, as well as this last revelation, he was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. He needed some time, as well as that elusive peace and quiet, to figure it all out.

Joker dropped more bits of bread into his soup and Bruce sighed. 

“Are you actually going to eat that?” he asked.

****Joker hadn’t eaten anything for almost two days at least and, in his position, Bruce would've devoured the entire meal in thirty seconds flat. But Joker seemed in no hurry at all. How the hell did he keep going?  
  
Joker rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh.  
  
“Such a nag,” he muttered, before grabbing the bowl and pouring the entire contents down his throat. The bowl returned to the tray with a clatter, before it was angled so that Bruce could see it was empty and Joker wiped the soupy residue from his lips with the back of his hand as he burped. “Ooh, excuse me!” he chuckled. “My compliments to the chef.”  
  
Bruce rubbed his eyes. This truce was going to be _very_ hard work, indeed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, two updates in one week! Unfortunately, not all chapters will arrive this quickly, as my holiday is over and it's back to work tomorrow :(  
> As with the previous chapter, this one hasn't had a beta, so apologies for any mistakes I might have missed.  
> Oh, and Chapter 1 now has artwork to accompany it, so be sure to check that out :)
> 
> I'm also on tumblr. You can follow my main blog [melamungous](http://melamungous.tumblr.com/) and my art blog [mellie-art](http://mellie-art.tumblr.com/)

[](http://i.imgur.com/eg1j4vR)  


_ Nine months earlier _

  
They're facing each other, one standing as laughter spews out of his bruised, scarlet mouth, the other on all fours, with ears ringing and mind spinning, their arena saturated in rain and blood as the ground beneath feet that’ve done this dance more times than anyone can count becomes a pool of sludge. 

They’re battered and bruised, muscles trembling and chests heaving as their fists drip with each other’s blood, and they're exhausted but neither’s willing to concede defeat as what seems like a lifetime of death and regret hangs between them. 

And the man on his knees is forced to ask a question that plagues him constantly these days.   
  
_ How did it come to this? _ __  
  
It hasn't always been this way. The man whose hands are now indelibly stained with death began his career as nothing more than a petty thief, his targets banks and the jewellery hanging from necks and wrists and it was so much easier then - simpler - when the only victims were people’s wallets and livelihoods, when the guilt that comes as the high wears off wasn’t quite as strong. Now it just makes Bruce feel heartsick, hating himself for every spike of adrenaline, hating the skip of his pulse whenever that name reaches his ears, the pull constantly tugging at him whenever the madman calls and the way he seems to claw his way deep under the skin. Like a plague that can't be cured, eating away at the very heart of him, laughing all the while.

  
Bruce hates it, but never enough to stop it.   
  
He knows it’s wrong, the worst kind of hypocrisy feeling anything but loathing for a man like this. Four people have died tonight, people whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time, their existence reduced to nothing more than tragic pieces on a bloody chess board as each one of their faces is burned into Bruce's memory. Just like every life taken by the clown. They taunt him constantly, whispering in his thoughts and making sure his dreams are only ever nightmares. He can't remember the last time he slept soundly and supposes it’s only fair. A good night’s sleep is for those who deserve it.   
  
A shoe once black that's now a muddy brown swings and buries itself into Bruce's stomach and Joker cackles as a rush of air falls out of Bruce's mouth.

“Wha-what’s...the matter, Bats?” Joker asks, words fighting their way through relentless laughter. “Old age…catching up with you?”   
  
The shoe hits again, forcing Bruce back into the wet dirt and Joker looks on, cackles once again echoing into the air and smashing against Bruce’s eardrums. He tries to ignore the screaming of his body as he makes it move.   
  
They’ve been at this for hours, the fight brutal even by their standards, wrath fuelling Bruce’s body as he delivers blow after blow, each connection of his fist accompanied by a memory of a life lost. Neither of them have held back, throwing everything they have at each other, trying to gain the upper hand, trying to  _ win _ .   
  
Win…like it’s a game. A game that, regardless of the consequences, Bruce has never stopped playing.   
  
“Maybe you should consider early retirement,” Joker taunts, voice cutting like razor blades. “Hand the cowl over to some young whippersnapper that can actually keep up with me!”   
  
Bruce’s hands sink into the mud, fingers curling and squeezing into fists as he rests his weight on them, before pulling up his knees to rest on all fours once again. His chest moves up and down, in and out, as he forces the oxygen into his lungs and the rain runs into his eyes, blurring his vision, making Bruce shake his head. It makes his skull throb but the pain goes ignored.

  
“Perhaps they would have been able to stop me,” that relentless, maddening,  _ infuriating _ voice continues. “Save those poor little things you let sink to their deaths.”   
  
Bruce says nothing and continues to breathe, not caring if his submissive position leaves him open to more attacks. Every part of him hurts and the sway and stumble of Joker’s legs means the clown isn't faring any better. The difference between them is that Joker thrives on the pain, whereas Bruce is starting to feel he’s reached his limit. In more ways than one.   
  
He can’t do this anymore. After almost two decades, the trajectory of their path has reached startling clarity and it's an outcome Bruce is desperate to avoid, even as he fears deep down that there’s no other finale for them. Somehow, someday, they’ll end each other.   
  
But... _ why?  _ Why should they have to? Why can't there be another way, a different ending that doesn't leave them six feet under. They’ve been nothing but violence and aggression for so long, and yet...   
  
There have been moments, brief little interludes where they aren't tearing each other to shreds, usually as Bruce drives Joker to Arkham or whatever facility they decide to lock him in, when they drop the fists and use words instead. And it's during those moments that Bruce is given a glimpse of the brilliance behind the malevolence, the person behind the persona and, on one particular occasion, they even shared a laugh. Bruce had filed every single one of those moments away, to revisit whenever he feels he hasn't tortured himself quite enough.

  
If only he could appeal to  _ that _ side of the Joker, throw all the hostility aside and just…talk. Maybe they’d have a chance. Maybe they’d avoid almost certain death. Maybe…   
  
And here, right now, with rain pouring down, mud pooling between his fingers and blood clinging to his skin, Bruce makes a decision. It’s one he’s considered often in the past but never been brave enough to make. It’s a decision that will either make them…or break them.

  
Joker is still taunting him, unaware of the battle waging in his Bruce's mind.   
  
“Well?” he demands, when Bruce still doesn’t move. “What are you waiting for? Get up!”   
  
Joker stumbles forwards, his foot coming out to kick Bruce in the side and Bruce sways but just about manages to keep himself up. He still doesn't speak and makes no move to comply.   
  
“I said  _ get up _ !”   
  
Bruce catches the neck kick and pushes the foot away, making Joker stumble backwards and there's a giggle as Joker steadies himself.   
  
“That’s more like it,” he says as Bruce struggles to his feet. “Had me worried for a minute there, y’know!”   
  
Bruce is finally standing and it takes the last reserves of his strength to stay that way. Joker squares his shoulders with a bloody smile.   
  
“Let’s finish this, shall we?”   
  
Bruce watches as Joker readies himself for the final round and Bruce does the same. Except, it isn't in the way Joker expects, as Bruce takes a deep breath and says, “No.”   
  
Joker frowns and arches his eyebrows. “Come again?”   
  
Bruce’s eyes look steadily into Joker’s. “I said  _ no _ .”

  
Joker grimaces, like he's offended by what he's just heard. “What do you mean “no”?”   
  
“I mean,” Bruce says with a voice quiet, steady, determined. “No more. This is over.”   
  
“Says who?” Joker asks, looking around like he's trying to find whoever put Bruce up to this.   
  
“Says me.”

A gaze that might've been sympathetic on any other face crosses Joker’s. “Oh,  _ darling _ ,” he coos. “You know that’s not how it works. This isn’t over until  _ I  _ say it is.”   
  
Bruce shakes his head. “I’m not talking about the fight, Joker,” he says, voice still quiet and steady, hoping there's enough sincerity to make Joker understand. “I’m talking about  _ this _ .” He waves a finger between them. “It’s over. No more fighting, no more violence. It’s finished.”   
  
For a long minute Joker goes still. And then he tips his head back and releases the sort of laugh that sets Bruce's teeth on edge.

  
“You’re sounding a little punch drunk, my dear. I’ll have to consider going easier on you next time.”   
  
“There won’t be a next time,” Bruce insists.   
  
“Yes there will,” Joker says immediately with the sort of absolute assuredness that tells Bruce he's going to take even more convincing than he first thought. “Even if you manage to take me in, you know I’ll be out sooner or later and this will just happen all over again.”   
  
Bruce is about to say  _ no _ again, but stops himself because it doesn't seem to be working. So he settles for looking defiantly at Joker, heart racing as he tries to predict which way this’ll end. And Joker returns the scrutiny, taking in the state of Bruce before giggling again.

“D’you need a breather?” He asks. “Is that what this is about?” He opens his arms wide. “Well, why didn’t ya say so? I’m more than happy to reschedule! I mean, my diary’s a bit chocka at the moment but is, say, next Friday any good for you? I’ve got a few orphanages to blow up in the morning but I’m sure I can pencil you in for the afternoon.”   
  
“I’m serious,” Bruce says over yet more laughter.   
  
Joker sighs, arms falling back down to his sides. “Are you ever anything else?”   
  
Bruce scowls at Joker’s stubborn refusal to accept what he's hearing, but he won’t give up. He  _ can’t _ . Otherwise, he knows their next confrontation could well be their last and the chill that seizes him is almost enough to make him wince. He takes a step forward and sees Joker’s hands close into fists, eyes gleaming, taunting with  _ I told you so _ , but nothing happens and Joker’s expression quickly turns sour.

  
“No, I’m not,” Bruce says in answer to Joker’s question. “So, when I say that this is over, you should know I mean it.”   
  
“I’m not so sure about that,” Joker says, eyes narrowing and going dark. “But I do know that whatever crawled up your cute little ass needs to crawl right back out, because this is getting boring and, if I’d wanted that, I woulda paid old Jimbo a visit!”   
  
Bruce gives him nothing and Joker growls.

“Oh, come on, Bats!” he cries. “We were doing so well! You almost broke my arm and everything. Don’t ruin it, now. Just let those fists start flying again and we’ll pretend this little-” his hand moves in rapid circles as he searches for the most appropriate word. “ _ -moment _ of yours never happened.”   
  
Once again, Bruce refuses to take the bait and Joker watches him, the unmoving fists and feet, both of which were pummelling him not so long ago and Bruce is sure Joker thinks by rights should still be doing so. But they’re not and Joker’s frustration is really starting to show. With another sigh, exasperated this time, and a roll of the eyes, Joker reaches into his jacket, mumbling something about having to do everything himself.   
  
When the barrel of a gun points in his direction, Bruce feels his already racing heart thud even faster. He tries not to let it show but he's weak and can’t stop the stutter in his breath. Joker catches it, of course, and his head inclines as an smirk slowly spreads across his lips.   
  
“Well that got a reaction, didn’t it?” The smirk widens into a full smile. “The big bad Bat never did like guns.”   
  
Bruce tries to keep his heart steady. He’s always hated guns, for obvious reasons, but, as Batman, tries not to let it show. But Joker’s always seen what others can't and Bruce refuses to let it get to him. He’s faced guns before and, if he survives tonight, will do so again. Joker’s going to have to do a lot more than that to break his determination.   
  
“I’m not fighting you.”

“So you keep saying,” Joker says. “But I’m sure I can persuade you otherwise.”   
  
“Not like this.”   
  
“Then how?” Joker leans forward. “Why don’t you tell me, so we can finally get back to the fun, eh?”   
  
“No. It’s over.”   
  
“No,” Joker insists. “It  _ isn't _ .”

Bruce shakes his head and hears the gun being cocked.   
  
“Careful, sweetie.” Joker’s voice is low, a sign that things are about to get nasty. “You’re trying my patience and you know what happens to people who that.”

  
“You’re going to shoot me?”

  
It’s a query and a challenge that Joker doesn't hesitate to meet, eyes turning acidic.

  
“I’ve done it before.”   
  
Bruce looks at Joker, the man who’s tormented and fascinated for so long he barely remembers how he lived without him. He's drenched, hair plastered to his skin and make up everywhere, his face deathly pale and covered in bruises. The purple suit hangs heavily off his frame and the arm wielding the gun is trembling. Joker’s every bit as weary as Bruce who wonders why he won’t just give in. Why does it have to be this way? What's the point? They're both littered with scars from the other and Bruce is running out of bones to be broken by him.

  
_ How did it come to this? _

  
Bruce can’t answer that, not in the way he really wants to. He recalls the events that brought them here but not the reason beneath it all. Or maybe he can but can't bring himself to acknowledge it yet. Either way, in the end, there’s nothing he can do about the past. What really matters is the future and Bruce will face his fate at the end of the barrel of that gun before he lets it take another step down the path of self-destruction.   
  
Bruce moves forward again and, unlike before, there’s no gleam in the Joker’s eyes because Bruce's aim is clear. He keeps moving, the distance between them shrinking until the barrel of the gun taps the chest plate of his armour. He stands there, silent and waiting and Joker…   
  
For a long, tense moment, Joker doesn’t respond and Bruce knows why. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. There’s an order established long ago, which, whether the pair realise it or not, has been followed faithfully ever since. But now Bruce has gone off-script in a way that Joker isn't prepared for. Something flashes in Joker’s eyes, close to anger but diluted by confusion and he needs time to think of a response. Bruce lets him have it, cold steel dragging against the armour with every rise and fall of his chest and again Joker spots the challenge but there's hesitation now where there wasn't before.   
  
“You think I wouldn’t?” Joker’s voice is very quiet now and there's no smile to be seen.

  
“We’re about to find out.”   
  
It’s reckless and insane, both things Joker understands very well but they’re not traits usually exhibited by Batman and Bruce can tell he isn’t sure what to make of the switch.   
  
“You should leave the jokes to me, dearest,” Joker eventually says, voice going tight as his grip on the weapon does the same. “Your sense of humour needs work.”   
  
Bruce stays quiet, always better with actions than with words and in a spark of either colossal bravery or immense stupidity, his hand comes up and fingers curl around the barrel of the gun. There’s a click as his other hand frees the chest plate and lifts it to tuck the tip of the gun underneath. Bruce can feel the cool metal through the thin mesh fabric and his heart is moments away from smashing free. He’s just put his life entirely in Joker’s hands and the tiniest shred of sense that remains is screaming that this had better be worth it.   
  
Joker’s eyes are wide, flying up to meet Bruce.  _ This is wrong _ . Bruce can see the thought running through his mind clear as day and it’s refreshing to be the one leaving Joker at a loss.

“What are you doing?” Joker demands.   
  
“Ending the game,” Bruce explains. “One way or another, this stops tonight.”   
  
Joker’s eyes fall back to the gun and he tries to tug it away but Bruce holds it in place and their gazes lock again, where Bruce can see the sliver of uncertainty creeping in. When Joker tries to let go of the handle, Bruce’s other hand wraps around Joker’s wrist, forcing it to stay in place.   
  
“What - ” Joker glares at the blue-black fingers holding him in place. He tugs again. “What are you - let go!” He starts to struggle, using his other hand to pry the fingers off, but Bruce’s grip only gets tighter.

  
Joker looks back up, demanding to know why Bruce is doing it.

  
“If you’re going to threaten a man with a gun,” Bruce says, voice surprisingly calm. “Then you’d better be ready to use it.”   
  
Joker’s frowns harder and Bruce can see he's struggling..

  
“What’s the matter?” he asks in a tone just a fraction away from taunting. “Losing your nerve?”   
  
Disbelieving laughter spills out of Joker’s mouth but there’s no humour there. He doesn't think this is funny, something he decides to make Bruce very aware of.

  
“It’s not supposed to be.”

  
“Then what’s the point?”   
  
“The point...” Bruce begins, but his words falter when he realises he doesn't know the answer. He just knows that things have to change because it's going to kill them both and he can't let them fall into their graves without trying one last time. 

In the end, Bruce goes for honesty.

  
"I can’t do this anymore,” he says. “It's been eighteen years, Joker. Eighteen years of blood and pain and we're no further forward than when we started. We hurt and we break and we destroy and the only thing that changes is the number of dead bodies left behind.” 

He takes a deep breath, the night starting to catch up with him and he continues. “And I say  _ we _ , because I realise this is as much my fault as yours. I've let this happen, let the game run for too long. So focused on-on  _ winning _ , on beating you, that I didn't stop to consider the cost."   
  
It's quite an admission, telling Joker about the guilt that's been hanging over him for years, that gets heavier every time they meet and Bruce waits, letting it sink in, hoping Joker will actually grasp what Bruce is telling him.   
  
"But I can't win. No matter what I do, nothing changes. And it never will."   
  
There's another pause as the Bruce waits for some kind of reply but Joker, renowned for exploiting any chance to run his mouth, has chosen this moment to become uncharacteristically quiet. His eyes are drilling holes into Bruce, obviously searching for the trick, but there isn't one and Joker’s gaze falls back to the gun. It's still there, pressed firmly against Bruce's chest and Bruce isn't entirely sure they both don't want it to go off.   
  
"Unless..?”

  
"Unless  _ we _ change it,” Bruce finishes. “Together.”   
  
Bruce can't say how much time passes as that word dangles between them. He wonders if it’s a mistake, too much too soon but he can't find any other word to fit. It’s always been this way. Not one or the other, not separate but together. After so many years of ignoring and burying it, Bruce feels a rush of fear mixing with exhilaration at finally saying it out loud.   
  
Joker’s face now reveals very little but his voice is soft when he speaks. "And why would I want to do that?" he asks, leaning forward to emphasise his next words. "I like this game. I  _ enjoy _ it."   
  
_ So what can you offer instead? _ It's not said but Bruce hears it all the same as the gun presses just a little harder against his chest and he braces himself.   
  
"You might but I don't, not anymore. And, whatever happens tonight, I'm done with playing.”   
  
Joker’s jaw goes tight.   
  
“So, there are two ways this can go, Joker,” Bruce says. “Either we stop…”

“Or?”

"Or you might as well pull the trigger."   
  
Joker’s eyes flash with someone Bruce can't quite name and the metal starts to dig in. Bruce’s brain splits in half, one part certain Joker won't kill him, while the other half prepares for the split-second flash of pain that will come when the bullet is fired. It could go either way but what actually happens is something he doesn't expect.   
  
Joker’s hand lifts, coming to the point where the chest plate has detached and slipping underneath. Bruce feels the gun shift sideways as Joker’s palm rests on the spot his heart thuds against. Joker’s index finger then begins to tap in a quick but steady rhythm, matching the tempo of Bruce's heartbeat and Bruce wants to read his mind.  _ What are you thinking?  _ But he isn't brave enough to ask.

  
“The heart’s amazing, isn’t it?” Joker says, watching his hand move in time with Bruce’s lungs. His voice is soft like the breath brushing over Bruce's cheek and their faces are close enough for their noses to touch. “Such a fragile thing, but so essential for a human being to function. Seems a bit silly to make something that important so delicate. And they really are delicate, so easy to break. A bullet’s one way-” The gun presses in. “But there are so many others and not all require a weapon. Stress is one of the biggest killers going and did you know there are people who have actually died of a broken heart? Now that really is funny.”   
  
Bruce listens as Joker continues his monologue, wondering where it will lead before the hand slips away and the gun goes back to where it was before. The metal digs into the mesh yet again and, with blood cooling rapidly, Bruce wonders if it’s wise to say a silent goodbye to his loved ones, Joker included.   
  
“I’ve thought about killing you,” Joker continues and his finger brushes over the trigger. “Many,  _ many _ times. It’d be so much easier if I did. With you gone there’d be no one to stop me, no ridiculous man in a costume to ruin my day. I could do whatever I want, whenever I want and this city would fall to its knees before me. A clown prince crowned king.” 

He offers Bruce a wide grin. “It would be glorious.” But then the smile disappears and Joker’s eyes fall back to the gun. “But  _ pointless _ .”   
  
Bruce stays silent, unable to speak and unsure what he could even say, anyway.

  
"What do you want?" Joker asks, eyes searching Bruce's for an answer and Bruce doesn’t think there’s enough time contained in the entire universe to answer that question, but he forces himself to squeeze it all into one short reply.

"I want to help you.”   
  
Joker snorts. “How could you help me?”   
  
Bruce hasn't thought that far ahead, too busy trying to  _ get  _ here to think about what'd happen after. Honesty seems to be working so he sticks with it.

“I have no idea but I'll do whatever I can, give you whatever you need. I’ll be there, start to finish, every step of the way.”   
  
Joker chews the inside of his cheek and waits for much longer than Bruce likes to give an answer. "I dunno, Bats,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “It's hard to break the habit of a lifetime."   
  
"You're nothing, if not tenacious."   
  
Joker blows a snort of laughter out through his nose and his lips twitch but don’t quite form a smile. "Who knew the Batman could be so eloquent?"   
  
_ Desperate times, desperate measures, _ Bruce thinks but doesn’t say it and his heart is beating so hard he wonders if it might be about to illustrate Joker’s reference to the dangers of stress. He’s still holding onto the gun and Joker’s wrist and Joker isn't trying to move it away, now deciding which path to take, which future he’d rather have.   
  
And just as Bruce is about to demand an answer he feels the pressure against his chest recede and Joker try to pull the gun away but, in his surprise, the Bruce's grip gets tighter.   
  
“Darling,” Joker says. “I can’t drop the gun if you don't let go.”   
  
Its Bruce’s turn to study Joker, searching those impossibly green eyes, but they're so hard to read.   
  
“Unless, of course, you want to be shot?”   
  
Joker’s eyebrows lift and Bruce finally uncurls his fingers and Joker pulls gun closer to himself to study it before turning his back to Bruce. Then he pulls his arm back and, with as big a swing as his battered body can manage, throws the gun away. He turns to face Bruce again, straightening his jacket and Bruce feels a swell of relief as the reality of how close he came to death dawns on him. It ranks right up there as the single most idiotic thing he’s ever done. they both go silent for a very long time.   
  
“Joker?” Bruce eventually says, quiet and unsure.

  
“Don’t get excited, Batsy,” Joker replies, brushing his hair out of his face. “I may not want to kill you but that doesn’t mean I’m accepting your offer.”   
  
Bruce tries to hide his defeat but his head still dips. For a second he'd almost dared to hope.   
  
“But it’s not a no, either.”   
  
Bruce's eyes turn sharp as he tries to ignore the hope prickling in his chest. “What does that mean?”

  
Joker takes a deep breath and looks to the side, focusing on something far in the distance. 

“I need some time,” he says, hands slipping into the pockets of his trousers. “This isn’t a decision to be made lightly.” His eyes swivel to finally land on Bruce. “I mean, you did just almost kill yourself over it. And they call  _ me _ crazy!”   
  
Joker chuckles and Bruce feels his mouth twitch and there’s a scuffing on the ground by a shoe, before Joker lets out a long sigh. “Don’t s’pose you’d consider skipping the part where you dump me in the nuthouse?”   
  
Bruce shakes his head, only just managing to keep the apology from rolling off his tongue.   
  
Joker shrugs and he takes his hands out of his pockets, before holding them out. “Worth a try.”   
  
The journey to Arkham is quiet. As Joker said, Batman’s rarely so eloquent and it’s taken a lot out of Bruce to say as much as he has. But, with any luck, his efforts will prove to be worth it because Joker’s agreed to at least  _ think _ about the offer and it may not be ideal - Bruce has never been fond of vaguery - it’s a start and the best thing for him to do right now is be patient. He’ll have Joker’s answer soon enough.   
  
They reach the doors of Arkham, Bruce helping Joker out of the vehicle and the shocked expressions of the staff aren't a surprise. Bruce knows how bad they both look. Joker doesn’t struggle against Bruce’s grip on his arm, which is looser than usual, and greets the people waiting like old friends. Joker’s chameleonic switches in mood never fail to unnerve and it’s only years of experience that have allowed Bruce to figure out which are genuine. He can tell that this is purely for show but the look he gets as Joker’s led into the building is very much real and Bruce doesn’t break eye contact until Joker disappears from sight.   
  
-   
  
The chandelier swung from side to side as Bruce stared up at the ceiling. He knew it was too cold at this time of night and at this time of year to have the window open but didn’t care. Sometimes he needed the bite of cold air to clear his head, distract him from whatever night terrors decided to pay him a visit. But it wasn't a nightmare this time, it was a memory and it’d been playing over and over in his head since he woke.

  
_ “I’m considering accepting that ever so gracious offer you made to me all those months ago.” _ __  
  


That sentence had haunted Bruce all day. Joker was considering it, actually  _ considering  _ it, the man Bruce had spent eighteen years fighting finally ready to give it all up. Possibly. And after all the waiting and hoping, the chance that Bruce might finally get what he wanted wasn't something he could even wrap his head around.   
  
But, as always, the sensible - or cynical - part of Bruce brought that train of thought to a grinding halt, telling him to calm down and reminding him that this still wasn't a yes. They were another step closer but there was a long way to go until they got there and a whole lot that could go wrong in the meantime.

  
But the cynicism still wasn't  _ quite  _ enough to squash the hope and rather than waste energy trying, he turned his thoughts to Arkham. Tomorrow night he planned to pay the asylum a visit and he'd already discussed what he needed with Lucius, who said it wouldn't be hard but it would be risky. Computers containing heavily encrypted files would have very good security and once the retrieval of information began, it wouldn’t take long for the defences to kick in. This meant they would have to get as much information as they could in the shortest possible time. Bruce hoped it'd be enough.

A flash caught Bruce's eye and, as he turned his face towards the window, he saw a familiar shape fill the sky. Time to get to work.

[](http://i.imgur.com/UHrS9kN)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I hope you all enjoyed it and thanks for reading! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uuuurrrrggghhhh! This fucking chapter! I really struggled with this one, hence the long wait for an update, but I have finally, FINALLY got it done! I have to thank FreneticKinetic for assuring me this wasn't a massive pile of wank and DracoMaleficium for doing the same and ironing out all the kinks. Huuuugs to you both!
> 
> Chapter three now has artwork, which can also be seen on my tumblr [here](http://mellie-art.tumblr.com/post/154328453369/scene-from-chapter-three-of-a-new-game)

“Jim.”

Commissioner Gordon was halfway through the third drag of his cigarette when the gravelly voice reached his ears. Batman stood still as a statue as Gordon turned and hoped the slight jolt of his shoulders might have gone unnoticed, even as he knew such hope was futile.

The Batman’s sudden appearance shouldn’t have surprised him the way it did - the way it _always_ did. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had almost seventeen years to become accustomed to the Dark Knight’s dramatic arrivals, debriefings with him now as commonplace as those he had with his colleagues down at the G.C.P.D, and it no longer felt odd to spend nights on a rooftop, talking to a man dressed as a bat. If anything, it’d now feel weird _not_ to.

However, despite the normality their acquaintance had achieved, Gordon’s skin never failed to prickle whenever the vigilante arrived. He wasn't scared of Batman as such, because he knew the masked figure would never deliberately harm him, but there was something about him that just…unnerved. So, as he always did whenever meeting the vigilante, Gordon pushed the disquiet aside.

Inhaling deeply and letting the city’s fumes invade his nostrils, Gordon prepared himself for what was likely to be their last conversation. It was another surprise to feel the strength of the ache accompanying that knowledge. Batman certainly wasn’t a figure that immediately inspired friendship, but one had managed to develop between them that Gordon had come to truly appreciate, providing him with a large degree of comfort to know the vigilante would have his back. Just how heavily he relied on that support, right as it was being taken away, was now coming into full focus.

A cloud of smoke billowed into the air, as Gordon sighed. “I didn’t mean to waste your time,” he said, waving towards the large spotlight emitting a blinding white light. “But I thought it was only right to give this one more run, seeing as it's being taken down tomorrow.”

Bruce nodded, but didn’t say anything. He could tell this was hitting the man hard and, if he was entirely honest with himself, Bruce wasn’t faring much better. Jim Gordon was one of the few men in this city the vigilante could, without any hesitation, deem a Good Man, an honest, decent cop in a city drowning in bad ones. Jim had been the first of Gotham’s finest to actually take a leap of faith and trust Batman, and had been a stalwart defender of the Dark Knight ever since. Bruce would never say it aloud - he hadn’t taken on this role to earn praise - but he’d always appreciated that, the man’s high opinion of him helping settle the darker things residing in his chest.

Sometimes, anyway.

In turn, Bruce had always tried his damnedest to return the favour, so although it certainly could be deemed a waste of time, being summoned to the roof of the G.C.P.D building for nothing more than a chat, Bruce wasn’t going to say anything. If Gordon wanted a proper goodbye, then it was the least Batman could do.

For a while, neither spoke, just letting the sounds of the city invade their ears. The bleating of car horns, the wailing of distant sirens and the whispers of conversation carried to the two men on the rush of the wind, and both allowed themselves the time to appreciate the soundtrack of Gotham’s nightly grind. They were both city boys at heart and their love for the place had never diminished, no matter how hard the filth sought to swallow them.

“I tried to talk them out of it, you know,” Gordon continued, the rapidly disappearing cigarette hanging between his lips. “A few of us did, in fact. Whatever some might think of your methods, you’ve done a Hell of a lot for this city. Quite a few of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Once again, Bruce nodded. There wasn’t really a lot he could say to that. _Just doing my job_ would have sounded hokey spilling from his lips.

“They wouldn’t listen, though.” A touch of ire laced the Commissioner’s tone. “The Mayor’s dead set against you and doesn’t care how stretched our resources may be, or how valuable your help is. She wants you gone and won’t hear another word about it.” Gordon looked at the vigilante and let out a breath of frustration. “I was _this_ close to throttling the woman.”

Bruce took a step forward. “It’s alright,” he said.

Jim snorted. “You won’t be saying that when my men are trying to fill you full of lead. When I say Marshall wants you gone, I mean it. She’s really gunning for you. The Batman is public enemy number one and if any of us are caught even walking the same street as you, without the intent of arrest, we’re out on our asses.” There was a pause, before Gordon continued and his voice dropped. “Our orders are now shoot to kill.”

Bruce closed his eyes and took a breath. This was bad. He now understood the reason for the extra tension lining those aged shoulders and why Gordon was close to starting his third smoke in under an hour. The Mayor was ordering the Commissioner to kill a man who had become one of his closest allies and, although Bruce’s situation was undoubtedly the more precarious of the two, he still didn’t envy Gordon’s position.

The timing of the witch hunt was terrible, too. Right when he was elbow deep in an important case, as well as dealing with the Joker and _…everything_ that had come with the madman this time, Bruce now had to fight off two separate organisations that wanted him dead. The suspicion that, perhaps, they weren’t quite so separate was growing steadily.

“I appreciate the warning,” Bruce said. “And I’ll be careful.”

Gordon’s brow rose skeptically and Bruce fought the urge to smile. The Commissioner finished his cigarette and dropped it to the ground before stamping it out with his shoe. “I’d tell you to lie low, but I think I’ll save my oxygen for something more worthwhile.”

Were it not for the aloofness his night time persona required, Bruce might have offered some sort of retort regarding oxygen and the inhibiting effects the tar filling the Commissioner’s lungs at an alarming rate had on it, but he remained silent. Instead, he prepared himself to leave. Tomorrow was going to be a long day and he needed to be ready. He was also anxious to return to the cave, but refused to dwell on all the reasons why. He’d kept trying to remind himself that there was only so much trouble a man chained to a wall could get himself into, but it wasn’t working. The clown wasn’t just _any_ man.

Just as Bruce took a retreating step, Gordon spoke once more.

“Before you leave,” he began. “Is there any word on the Joker?”

It was as if the man had read Bruce’s mind. “Not yet,” he said, the lie falling easily from his lips. He may have trusted Gordon, but, with things as they currently were, he trusted the people around the Commissioner even less than usual and didn’t want to put the residents of Wayne Manor under any further jeopardy. “But don’t worry,” Bruce continued. “I’m looking into it.”

Gordon nodded. “I certainly hope so. With you out of the picture, Lord knows what he’ll get up to.”

Before Bruce could even stop it, that awful little voice lunged and whispered all sorts of nonsense regarding clowns and the changing of ways. If alone, Bruce would have told himself to shut the Hell up, but sadly, he was still in the presence of a fellow human being, so he had to settle for silently admonishing himself and striding towards the edge of the roof.

“Normally, I’d say see you around, but don’t take it personally if I don’t, this time.”

“I won’t,” Bruce replied, before jumping.

Gordon watched the vigilante’s suitably dramatic exit before turning back to the signal. His hand went to the switch and, for what he realised could be the very last time, the Batsignal went dark.  
 

-

Security at Arkham Asylum had always been something of a hit and miss affair. Depending on the patient it was either very effective, or pretty much non-existent. The latter had most certainly been true with regards to several of the more determined members of Batman’s Rogues Gallery but, although many attempts to change things had been made throughout the years, the tightrope separating mental health facility and prison was a difficult one to walk. Should patients be kept under strict lock and chain, for the safety of themselves and others, or should they be afforded a modicum of dignity and respect, given that they couldn't be held entirely accountable for their crimes?

It was a subject that never failed to rouse debate and one that Bruce had struggled with his entire vigilante career. The facility was necessary to help those suffering ill mental health, but years of poor funding and malpractice had rendered the institution a joke. In recent years, it had reached a level that prompted Bruce to look into possibly buying the asylum, or, at the very least, provide a hefty chunk of funding so that he could have a degree of control over the place. What good was it for him to continually place the criminals he apprehended in there if it only left them in a worse state than before? Time and time again, he had tried to place his trust in the authorities that were always promising to be the ones to finally fix the problems plaguing the facility, but time and time again, his trust had been misplaced.

Of course, Bruce’s intent had been railroaded the moment Candace Marshall stepped into the fray, taking it upon herself to renovate and rebrand Arkham into the shining beacon of rehabilitation that had managed to win her the election. Being the man he was, with the kind of experience he had, Bruce had been sceptical at first, but a little digging had provided evidence to support her claims and he’d actually found himself welcoming her involvement. Now, he felt very much the opposite - as well as a fool - knowing that, if anything, the place had become even worse, turned into Crane’s personal Hellish playground. Each time he thought of both the Mayor and the former psychiatrist, anger pulsed hot in his veins. He’d really wanted the dark days of Arkham to be over and honestly believed they could have been, if his plans hadn’t been thwarted.

But rather than dwell too long on the anger and frustration the situation inspired, Bruce vowed to let it fuel his determination to uncover and expose what was happening. Once that was done, he could then step in and finally get the place doing what it was supposed to. If Joker did agree to rehabilitation, then Bruce would be secure in the knowledge that the clown would actually be receiving the correct treatment, rather than the hideous bouts of malpractice almost every patient had been subjected to at some point over the years.

Of course, to even get anywhere close to that point, he needed evidence. He was in the process of poring over blueprints of the building’s latest renovations when Joker’s voice cut through his thoughts like a hacksaw.

“They’re wrong, you know.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder to see Joker several feet away, stood casually with hands in his pockets, green eyes grazing the large screen ahead of him. The vigilante had been hesitant to work with the clown present, as he preferred peace and quiet to meticulously think things over and only ever accepted interruptions in the form of welcome suggestions from Alfred. Unfortunately, the cave was where all his best equipment was stored and set up and, for a job like this, he couldn’t rely on anything less.

Thus far the clown had been quiet and unobtrusive, so when he spoke, Bruce refrained from telling him to be quiet. He’d see how this went, first.

“What are?” he said instead.

Joker’s hand left his pocket to point at the screen. “Those blueprints. They’re wrong.”

“In what way?”

Joker let out a chuckle. “In every way that _counts_.”

Bruce turned back to the screen and took a closer look at the date provided for the schematics. “These are two months old,” he said. “Did they change things just before you left?”

“Nope,” Joker replied, smacking his lips together at the end of the word to make the p pop. “The place was exactly the same as the day I waltzed in.”

Bruce frowned. “Then how can these be wrong? They’re the most up-to-date.”

Joker shrugged. “Search me, but they are. Where did you find them?”

Bruce didn’t answer, still looking at the small passage of text accompanying the schematics. He heard a giggle behind him, meaning the clown had guessed that the blueprints weren’t obtained from legal sources. A request for the documents through official means hadn’t yielded any results, due, apparently, to security concerns, which would have been understandable under normal circumstances. But these circumstances were far from normal.

“Oh-ho, you dirty little crook, you! And here I thought you were supposed to be a _good_ influence on me.”

Bruce ignored the remark and instead asked, “What’s wrong with them?” He really hoped the clown wasn’t messing around. This was too important for that.

Joker’s eyes narrowed a little as he moved forward. The sound of chains going taut signalled the end of his advancement, so he settled for leaning his torso forwards a little to get an even closer view.

“Well,” he began, straightening. His eyes flitted left and right, up and down, as if absorbing every piece of information the screen displayed. “For a start - ” he pointed to the top left hand corner, “- there’s an extra room on the end of those cells lining the top, by the entrance, as well as the ones down there.” His finger travelled to the bottom of the screen. “And as for those supposed exits…” Joker’s eyes finally fell to Bruce and he smiled. “I don’t know what new toys you’ve got in that belt of yours, Bats, but I doubt even _you_ can walk through walls.”

“Scoped the place well, I see,” Bruce remarked, looking over his shoulder at the clown.

“Of course.”

Joker had never made a secret of the fact that any building he entered would be immediately assessed for weak points. In fact, he often boasted about the speed with which he could determine an escape route and Bruce wondered if he’d managed to locate any in the cave. Although fitted with a level of security that could put most prisons to shame, nowhere was impenetrable, and if anyone could find a way out, it’d be the Joker. Morbid curiosity urged Bruce to test it, but that was one impulse he outright refused to give in to.

“How long did it take, this time?” Bruce asked.

“Oh, about an hour.”

“You’re slipping.”

Joker sighed dramatically. “Old age, darling, it comes to us all.” A haughty look was thrown Bruce’s way. “And you’re not so sprightly, yourself.”

Bruce made a non-committal noise as his eyes returned to the screen. Although early forties wasn’t considered tremendously old in the general lifespan of a human being, in his line of work it was close to the point where most considered calling it a day and, after particularly gruelling nights, it was no longer uncommon for him to wonder whether it was time he did the same. Unfortunately, that would also require the retirement of Gotham’s entire criminal element, which he didn’t suspect would happen any time soon.

“So,” Bruce said, folding his arms, as he banished the wishful thinking to focus on the business at hand. “The blueprint’s a fake.”

“Seems that way, detective.”

Bruce had been about to ask why they would do such a thing, but managed to answer the query himself. There was only one reason to fake a set of blueprints. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone might pull such a trick, but now that they had, it made sense. Anything to stop or, at least, slow down the Batman. If they’d thought that far ahead, though, would there even be any information left on Arkham’s computers to extract? Bruce sincerely hoped there was because the only alternative he had was to beat the evidence out of Jonathan Crane and, although a part of him relished the thought, he was pretty sure Crane wouldn’t know the full story. He was a pawn and one of the most expendable pieces on the board.

Bruce spun his seat around to face the man behind him. With every new development and obstacle, it was becoming more and more clear that he wasn’t dealing with amateurs. However, these people hadn’t reckoned on Batman having a card of his own to play - a _Joker_ to be exact.

The clown watched Bruce’s face and could see a query or request brewing. He responded by quirking a green eyebrow.

“But _you_ know the layout.”

Joker’s mouth curved into a smile; clearly he’d already guessed the thoughts running through the vigilante’s mind. “Why, yes I do.”

“Could you draw it for me?”

Joker’s smile faded and he regarded the vigilante for a moment. Bruce knew what his request meant. Asking the madman to do this was the first hint of trust he had displayed and it was rather a big one, considering the danger involved. Any misinformation could possibly result in Bruce’s death, but the reckless part of him was itching to see where this would lead, to see this as a test of the clown’s intentions. If he was willing to cooperate on this, there was potential for the future. It would also help silence the small niggling part of Bruce that still expected nothing but lies to spill from Joker’s mouth, that expected the truce - and everything that came with it - to blow up in his face.

The madman pursed his lips and his eyes swivelled to the side. “I suppose…” he began slowly, before allowing a long pause, most likely for dramatic effect. Bruce almost - _almost_ \- rolled his eyes. “If you ask nicely.”

Bruce frowned. “I thought I had.”

“Pfft!” Joker scoffed. “I thought the upper class were supposed to be well-bred. I’m not doing a thing for you, my ignorant little billionaire, until you say _please_.”

Bruce tried to keep his glare mild, but whether he’d succeeded, he couldn’t say. Joker just stared back at him, a saccharine expression on his face.

Bruce huffed, before finally relenting. “Please?”

Joker laughed. “See, that wasn’t so hard, now, was it? Manners cost nothing, y’know, even if yours come with a hefty side of attitude.”

Bruce didn’t stop his eyes rolling a second time around. Instead, he looked for pen and paper and carried them over to the table by Joker’s bed. The clown then proceeded to sketch his own version of Arkham’s layout and, watching from the opposite side of the table, Bruce had to admit that the clown’s memory was impressive. From all he’d gathered regarding Joker’s last stay, he could only assume there hadn’t been a lot of time for sightseeing. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised him if Joker’s initial assessment of the building was his only one.

When he was finished, Joker replaced the cap on the pen with a smack before turning the paper upside down and presenting it to Bruce.

“Et Voila!” he declared theatrically.

Bruce was about to take the proffered sheet, but then the clown snatched it away.

“Ooh, wait!” he cried and began doodling again.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked as a dotted line started meandering about the asylum’s corridors.

“Giving you the best route to the office where I found all that juicy info.”

Well, that was…unexpected. Bruce had considered asking for the sketch to be daring enough as it was and never even imagined Joker offering anything more. The familiar heat of suspicion began simmering in his gut, but Bruce stamped it out immediately.

 _No_ , screamed that small voice, which seemed to be getting bigger every day. _You are_ not _doing this. He is_ helping _you, he_ wants _to help you and you’re going to start accepting it or so fucking help_ me -

Bruce gave himself a mental slap, certain it wasn’t healthy for a person to argue with themselves to the extent that he did. Once again, it was the rasp of Joker’s voice that cut through his musings.

“You might want to get the decorators in, dear,” the clown said, eyes not leaving the paper. “I think the floor is cracked from where that superbly chiselled jaw of yours just hit it.”

Colour flooded Bruce’s cheeks and he felt sure that he was getting far too old to be blushing by now. Once the dotted line was complete, Joker straightened again and this time, when Bruce reached for the paper, the clown didn't snatch it away. But he didn't release it, either. Blue eyes met green and, for a few long, oppressive minutes, the cave was silent. The Joker’s usually expressive face was momentarily unreadable, although his gaze soon made it clear he wasn't happy. Bruce said nothing, keeping himself still as belligerence came to the fore. What right did Joker have to be upset about this? He was a psychopath, a fucking _serial killer_. Did he really expect to be able to say truce and, just like that, Bruce would hang off his every word? It would take more than a drawing to convince him, that was for sure.

_"This truce of ours is never going to work if you don’t start to show a little trust.”_

Bruce forced himself to calm down. There was no point getting into an argument over this, however much he felt the old habits itching to break out. Trust would certainly have to come if this partnership and Joker’s rehabilitation were going to have any chance at success, but after a lifetime of wariness, it was going to be slow. So far, the madman had done nothing to show that his intentions were anything less than genuine, but the success of Bruce's infiltration of Arkham would be the first bit of proof.

Seeing Bruce's lack of reaction, Joker’s hold on the paper relinquished and he took a step back.

“You’re welcome,” he said tartly, before turning and walking away.

The rattle of chains bounced off the walls of the cave and Bruce couldn't help feeling he'd just undergone a test of his own.

-

It was with a heavy dose of relief and more than a little surprise that the Joker’s honesty was proven. The sketch was right on the money, down to the ridiculous little stick figures representing the armed guards Arkham had now employed as part of their security staff. That particular notion sickened the vigilante and he could only desperately pray that those weapons were never turned on the inmates, but with the way things were going, it didn’t seem that those prayers would be answered.

The task of retrieving the information was painstakingly slow, with Batman forced to rely on every ounce of stealth he possessed. Security had certainly stepped up under Marshall’s reign. Thankfully, nothing went wrong and it was alarming to realise how different the situation would have been without Joker’s intervention. The devices Lucius had provided were allowed a solid twenty minutes to gather data before the computer’s own security managed to fight back. Bruce’s exit was hasty and he went to Wayne Enterprises immediately to hand the devices over to its CEO.

Unfortunately, the pair quickly discovered just how well encrypted the files were. Lucius assured him that the code wasn’t uncrackable, but it would take time to retrieve the information buried beneath.

Bruce returned to the cave, a mixture of frustration, anticipation and trepidation spinning in his stomach. Frustration at the need to wait for the information to be readable, anticipation for what would soon be uncovered providing the opportunity to finally move forward in the case, and trepidation, because Bruce was about to experience the very last thing he’d ever expected to.

He was going to _thank_ the Joker.

Despite the ridiculously late hour, Joker was still awake when Bruce returned to the cave. The clown was lounging on the cot, hands folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. If Bruce didn’t know any better he might have suspected the man was waiting up for him, but the clown had never subscribed to what anyone would call a typical sleep pattern. In fact, Joker never seemed to actually sleep, but ran on power naps that lasted no longer than two to three hours. Bruce wished he could cope as easily on so little rest, but soon retracted the desire, given the madman’s mental state.

“You’re alive, then,” Joker declared, eyes remaining on the sights above him. “Your friends were worried, I think.”

Bruce frowned, until a high-pitched chirp provided elucidation and his head subconsciously tilted back. He barely even noticed the bats anymore, their noises and activity as much part of the cave as the rocky walls and stony floor.

“Those noisy little rodents wouldn’t shut up the entire time you were gone.”

Bruce pressed the clips holding his cowl in place and they opened with a soft click. He dropped the mask on the desk before removing the cloak from around his shoulders.

“They’re not rodents,” he commented, whilst folding the long black garment and placing it beside the cowl.

“Pardon?”

“Bats,” Bruce explained, his back still facing the clown. Chiropterology hadn’t been his intended conversation, but it was as good and ridiculous a place to start as any. “They’re not rodents.”

“My apologies.”

Bruce heard a shuffle of fabric and finally turned to see Joker climb off the bed, before standing and giving a stretch. The actions were careful, due to the injuries that were still quite a way from being fully healed, but there was less stiffness in the madman’s movements than there had been. Bruce walked over towards the portion of the cave that contained the shower and bathroom and began removing his suit. He could have just removed it by the desk - he certainly wasn’t naked underneath - but, for some reason, there was something about undressing in front of the clown, of stripping away the Bat to reveal the man beneath, that made Bruce feel uncomfortable. He never could have explained it, even if he wanted to.

Clad in t-shirt and sweatpants, he returned to find Joker perched cross-legged on the table, picking at the sandwich Bruce had silently left there before heading to Arkham. The clown was tearing it into small pieces, which seemed to be a habit of his and so different to the way Bruce inhaled his own meals.

“So,” Joker said, tone terribly conversational. “How did it go?”

“Fine,” Bruce replied, his lack of skill with words making it difficult to think of a better reply.

_For goodness’ sake, Bruce! How hard is it to thank someone?_

With a clearing of the throat, he tried to offer something a little better. “It went without a hitch, actually.”

Joker’s eyebrow twitched and something almost smug crossed his face. “You sound surprised.”

Bruce fought the urge to glare. He couldn't make anything easy, could he? Once again they faced each other, undergoing a silent battle of wills, before the clown offered another remark.

"I held a gun to your heart and didn't kill you." A hint of seriousness crept into his expression, but Bruce was glad to see the earlier displeasure gone. “Do you really think I'd leave the task to a hive of loonies?”

If asked that question a few hours ago, Bruce wouldn't have been entirely sure, but now? Well, now he was riddled with uncertainty for a completely different reason.

“I’m not sure how much information we got,” Bruce decided to say, to shunt the moment forward. “But it was quite a bit. The decryption will take a while, though.”

Joker nodded, mouth now full of food and the silence allowed Bruce to continue.

“I also have the full list of Arkham employees that were working during your last stay, so we’ll be able to find out the name of the doctor you were talking about. See what she can tell us.”

Joker looked up sharply, eyes narrowed as they zeroed in on Bruce. “You’re not going to be a Moody McMeanie to her, are you? She was my only friend in that crudhole, y’know.” Joker jabbed a finger at the vigilante. “And I won’t have you upsetting her!”

Although the remark was meant as a quip, the truth lying beneath was depressingly tragic and it only added to the weariness lining Bruce’s bones.

“I only want to talk to her.”

Joker snorted a chuckle. “And we all know what _that_ means.”

Bruce ignored the comment and more silence fell upon the cave. He looked forward to the day when such quiet would cease to be so awkward between them. Thankfully, it was soon broken by the beep of the computer and Bruce turned to see a small box appear on-screen. It was a message from Alfred. Bruce typed a quick reply, which basically consisted of assuring the butler that he was indeed alive and well and that he’d be up soon.

Grabbing the cowl and cloak and placing them with the rest of the Batsuit, Bruce came to stand beside the table Joker was still sat on. The clown looked up and Bruce noticed with startling clarity how the bruises adorning the madman’s face were starting to turn a purplish grey. The one on his left cheekbone was particularly prominent, but Bruce refrained from openly staring at it.

“Do you need anything, before I leave?” the vigilante asked.

For the first time since he’d returned to the cave, Bruce was offered a smile.

“Now there’s a question,” Joker chuckled. “But no. My little sandwich and I should make it through the night.” His eyes dipped to the shredded snack. “Although only one of us will do so intact.” That intense green gaze returned to Bruce and he pointed a finger upwards. “And, if I get bored, I always have the not-rodents for company.”

Bruce nodded, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement, although he held back a real smile. It wasn’t until nearing the lift and with his back to the Joker that he finally plucked up the courage to say what he’d been intending to since his return. Batman may face danger every night without a qualm, but the man underneath was a coward.

“Thanks, by the way.”

Perhaps ashamed of his spinelessness, Bruce braved a quick glance over his shoulder at the clown, to find him looking back. For a period of time that was impossible to clarify, those green eyes pinned Bruce in place and, even with the distance between them, the weight of that gaze didn’t diminish. Bruce wished he knew a way to stop them constantly ensnaring him so.

Joker turned back to his food, leaving the vigilante free to go.  
 

-

Ruth Adams wasn’t a woman given to paranoia. She was smart, sensible and knew the dangers lurking around every corner, but also knew the likelihood of said dangers having any direct impact on her life and the ways to limit that eventuality. Anything that couldn’t be avoided, she simply chose to prepare herself for to the very best of her abilities. So, to find herself constantly looking over her shoulder, awaiting the arrival of the dreaded bogeyman that she just knew was coming to spirit her away, was something of a novelty.

Ruth had spent the better part of a month holed up in her home, only ever venturing outside when there was no other alternative. The locks on her doors and windows had never been so abused. When she’d found herself double-then triple-checking those locks, the psychiatrist wondered if it wasn’t time to start following some of the advice she bestowed upon her patients.

When she arrived home that evening, having raced to the grocery store in record time, she felt a chill in the air that shouldn’t have been present. Her heart immediately started pounding. Someone had broken in and she could tell by the unusual freshness surrounding her that the intruder had entered through a window. She could only pray it was a burglar, which served to prove what a sorry state of mind she was in, but she didn't care.

Just as long as it wasn’t… _him_.

“Dr. Adams.”

The sudden sound of a voice, although quiet, sent the woman flying back against the wall in fright. Batman stepped forward.

“Relax,” he urged, his dark growl seeming oppressive in the small lounge. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Bruce found it odd when he saw the woman visibly relax, albeit only slightly. Perhaps the Batman was losing his touch. Or she was expecting someone else.

“What do you want?” she demanded, her voice projecting more strength than its quivering should have allowed.

“I came to talk,” Bruce explained. “About Arkham.”

A humourless huff of laughter escaped her lips. “I thought you might,” she said, posture straightening, although she still didn’t move away from the wall. “I take it to mean that _he’s_ spoken to you.”

Ruth didn’t need to use Joker’s name. Bruce had learnt long ago when people were referring to the clown, simply by the inflection in their voices. Perhaps that was who the doctor had been expecting and it would certainly explain the extra locks adorning the windows that he could tell had recently been fitted.

“If you mean the Joker,” Bruce replied, “then, yes, he has and he told me what happened.”

“What did he say?” she asked, a note of urgency in her tone. Christ, but the woman was a paranoid mess and it left Bruce wondering if her role in things hadn’t been quite so innocent. Or as innocent as a bystander to whatever horrors Crane inflicted on fellow patients could be.

“He told me about what Crane was doing to the patients in the asylum,” Bruce replied. “And I’ve come to find out why. I need you to tell me what you know.”

“I - I don’t know anything!” she declared and, as always, Bruce saw straight through the lie. He had thought people might have learnt that by now, but it never stopped them trying. “I was barely involved. All I did was -”

“All you did,” Bruce interjected, a little more force entering his voice. Ruth Adams wasn’t the mastermind of this whole plot, but she was still involved and the knowledge of her feeding Joker sweets laced with sedative hadn’t been forgotten. “Was stand back and watch, as a deranged man poisoned and terrified the patients of an institution that’s supposed to be treating them.”

Ruth could provide no comeback to the accusation, so she chose to simply stand in silence as Bruce took a step forward and let the full weight of his gaze rest upon her. Ruth’s shoulders tightened as her body shrank in on itself a little and Bruce let the moment linger for as long as he thought she could stand it. She studied him while he loomed over her and, despite his assurance that he wouldn’t harm her, Bruce could see the spark of disbelief in those wide eyes. And he wasn’t about to dissuade it, if it meant getting what he wanted faster. Moody McMeanie, indeed.

When certain enough time had passed, Bruce asked, “Who gave Crane the run of the asylum?”

It took several minutes for the woman to find her voice. “I…” she faltered, before licking her lips and straightening once again. “If they find out I’ve spoken to you -”

“I can protect you,” Bruce immediately said and ignored the pang of guilt that came when he realised that, actually, he may not be able to. Not that he wouldn’t try, but with assassins and now cops after his blood, he was having a hard enough time keeping himself alive, let alone anyone else. Still, she didn’t need to know that.

“Not from these people,” she insisted. “They’re practically running this city.”

“You won’t be named,” he assured. “Nobody will need to know I’ve even been here.”

Ruth bit her lip, considering, and it was hard to tell by her expression which way she would go. Bruce didn’t need or want much, just a name or something to go on. Anything of value that he could use as a lead, should the information currently being decrypted at Wayne Enterprises turn out to be worthless. He didn’t expect it to, as files that heavily ciphered were clearly important, but it didn’t hurt to rely on more than one source and her direct involvement meant she'd have intel that wasn't necessarily included in the files.

It was with sagging shoulders that Ruth finally relented. “I can’t give you any names.”

Bruce resisted the urge to tighten his fists in frustration.

“And I don’t know a great deal, but I do know that Arkham isn’t being run by the authorities anymore.”

Bruce fought to keep the confusion from his features. “Someone bought the asylum?” Given his own interest, he was sure that if such a transaction had been made, he would have known - or at least heard about it.

“Not…exactly,” Ruth replied. “At least, not in any official way. It’s some big company, they deal in pharmaceuticals. They’ve given a whole heap of money to the asylum and completely changed the place. It’s practically a new building now. No loose wires, faulty electricals or leaking ceilings. You wouldn’t recognise the place.” She gave something close to a chuckle, but not quite reaching the level of humour to qualify as one. “I know I didn’t.”

A pharmaceutical company? What would they want with Arkham? Sure, they might have some new drug to peddle to the healthcare industry, but buying a mental institution wasn’t conducive to such a goal. Companies like that generally only cared about one thing: profit. A place like Arkham only ever cost money, it certainly didn’t accrue it.

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but as soon as they got involved, after the mayor announced her big plans for the asylum, we were inundated with a whole host of new drugs and treatments to test on the patients.”

“What kind of treatments?”

“Nothing you and a million other people haven’t had any time they go to a hospital,” Ruth assured him. “Most of the drugs were ones I recognised and used on many of my patients in the past, so I didn’t question it.”

“Not at all?”

Defensiveness crept into her tone. “Look, Arkham has been on its last legs for years, barely limping its way through inspections. There was even talk of shutting the place down. So when someone comes along with a wad of cash and offers to essentially save your livelihood, it’s easy to ignore the negatives.”

Bruce didn’t like it, but he understood. He only wished it had been _him_ offering that lifeline, rather than the sick bastards that had beaten him to it.

“When did Crane get involved?” he asked, moving the conversation along. She hadn’t provided a name for the company, but at least he now knew their trade. It was better than nothing.

“Just before the Joker arrived,” Ruth said. “They told the staff that Jonathan was effectively cured and they’d let him dabble in elements of his old profession, helping out the rest of us, as both reward and encouragement to keep up the hard work.” The disdain in her voice was plainly evident. “It wasn’t something I would have ever condoned were he left in _my_ care and I tried to fight against it, but my superiors assured me it was part of Marshall’s whole rehab thing she’d been harping on about for months.”

“So, the Mayor’s involved?”

Ruth shrugged, the most casual gesture she’d performed since Batman’s arrival. “I have no idea, but in this town, probably.”

“And none of you thought to question him having private sessions with other patients?” Bruce queried in disbelief. Surely someone would have seen how unethical and, frankly, _dangerous_ it was for Crane’s behaviour to be allowed.

“I didn’t know about them until towards the end,” she explained, a hand going up defensively, as if to assure the vigilante of her honesty. “And, as far as I’m aware, they were only with Joker. Jonathan only visited the other patients when he was accompanied by another doctor.”

“Which doctors?” If those doctors were present when patients were being experimented on, then there was a strong possibility they were involved, too.

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t think to check?” This time, Bruce didn’t hesitate to let his fists curl tighter.

“I’m a psychiatrist, not a damn detective!” Ruth countered, hotly. “And how the Hell was I supposed to know what he was doing? I was assigned to Joker and you should know better than anyone that he takes up _all_ of your time.”

Bruce did, especially right now.

“I didn’t have any other patients, so I didn’t know what was happening to them.”

“But you knew he was seeing Joker.” Bruce tried very hard not to let his judgement show, but it was difficult when every piece of information she provided only served to make his blood boil. “And you let him,” he finished through gritted teeth.

A grimace crossed the woman’s features and Ruth didn’t even bother to deny it, before a spark of indignation flared. “You know, it’s not like he hasn’t done a lot worse, to a lot more people!”

Bruce knew that better than most and, because of that, he probably shouldn’t have been so defensive of the psychotic clown, so enraged by what had happened to him. But he was, if the pounding of his heart and the roar in his ears was anything to go by.

“That doesn’t make it right,” he said, his voice low.

Blue eyes bore into brown and, unable to withstand what she saw in that gaze, the doctor’s quickly dropped to the floor. It was a while before either of them spoke again and, when Ruth broke the silence, it was to her credit that Bruce saw a hint of shame creep into her demeanour, accompanied by a tinge of regret.

“I know,” she murmured.

It was in that moment that a realisation dawned.

“You helped him escape.”

Ruth chewed the inside of her cheek and nodded.

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Would you believe me if I said it was a guilty conscience?”

Bruce didn't answer.

“Look,” she sighed. “I know what they’re doing to the patients is wrong. And yes, I didn’t stop Crane from experimenting on the Joker. I should have, but…you know what that man is like! He has a way of just - I don’t know - _getting_ to people, winding them up, pissing them off.”

Bruce knew exactly what Ruth was talking about. Joker was a master manipulator and, if it served his need for amusement, wouldn’t hesitate to drive every single person within his vicinity round the bend. More than a few guards and doctors had seen their demise in that way, being antagonised until they snapped, before suffering a severe amount of damage, or even death.

“But when I saw him,” Ruth continued. “After those sessions. I won’t lie, there was a little satisfaction there, at first. Crane started off small, I think, and the worst that happened would be the Joker suffering what I thought were mild panic attacks. But as the time went on it just got worse and worse and…” Ruth let out another sigh, this time deep and weary. “I don’t think I’d wish that on anyone.”

Bruce tried not imagine it, tried to keep the awful images out of his mind, but after that night in the cave, watching Joker thrash, tremble and growl his way through the torment Crane’s toxin had inflicted, it was nigh on impossible. And if it inspired enough sympathy in Ruth to a point where she willfully released an extremely dangerous man back onto the streets, with no form of supervision or restraint whatsoever...Bruce barely suppressed a shudder.

“And do you want to know the worst part?” Ruth asked, and it was difficult for Bruce to believe there could _be_ anything worse. “For once, perhaps for the very first time ever, the Joker was actually _behaving.”_

Bruce's head tilted a little, intrigued and, frankly, surprised by a concept so alien it left him parroting her. “Behaving?”

Another huff of laughter, this time actually resembling something close to amusement, came from the woman. “I know. You can't possibly be any more surprised than we were. Sure, he still tried to piss people off and play his little mind games, but, compared to his _usual_ behaviour, they were practically harmless! And he didn't hurt a single person, either.” Ruth folded her arms. “I'm not entirely sure it wasn't _more_ terrifying than if he'd been up to his usual tricks.”

Something stirred in Bruce's gut. It was difficult to describe; a bizarre mixture of ice, fire and something black and heavy that made his stomach clench and twist close to the point of physical pain.

“Troublemaking tends to take a back seat,” Bruce said, trying hard to keep his tone level, “when fighting Crane’s poison.”

For the first time since meeting the deranged clown, Bruce caught himself almost hoping - or wishing - Joker _had_ been causing trouble, that his lack of misbehaviour hadn't been a conscious decision, because the alternative was a reality entirely too tragic to embrace.

“No,” Ruth said. “Those sessions didn't start until a few weeks after the Joker’s arrival.”

Bruce's eyes closed.

“I don't know what you said or did before bringing him in,” she continued, oblivious to Bruce's struggle. “But he really did seem as though he _wanted_ to be there. I think that was a first for all of us.”

Bruce remained silent. His fists had tightened yet again and it was to the benefit of his palms that he wore gloves, otherwise his nails would have been close to drawing blood. Behaving. The Joker...had been...behaving. The notion circled his mind, repeating over and over again, taunting him with what-ifs and what-could-have-beens. Some might have laughed at the irony of the situation, but Bruce didn't. He was trying desperately to keep the rage under control. Bruce had waited years for this - _years_. After every confrontation between Batman and Joker, there was a moment when Bruce would try to imagine how things might be, what the clown could be if only he was willing to _try._ And now he discovered that the one time he showed a genuine sign of willingness to do so, was the _very_ moment Arkham had decided to make a terrible deal with the devil, throwing that effort back in Joker’s face.

Bruce needed to breathe. He needed to get out of a room that was suddenly far too claustrophobic and try to work everything out. Before he could, though, Ruth had one more thing to offer.

“I assume you're conducting some sort of investigation into all this to bring them to justice?”

Bruce possessed just enough awareness of himself to nod. He'd do that, alright, if it was the last fucking thing he _ever_ did. And not just for Joker, but for all the patients stuck in that Godforsaken place.

For the first time since Batman’s arrival, Ruth finally moved away from the wall she'd cowered against and walked to the kitchen, where her purse rested on the counter. She returned clutching something small and black and, as though reluctant to get too close to Bruce herself, her arm outstretched and he saw a small USB stick proffered towards him.

Bruce stepped forward and took the device. “What's on it?” he asked.

“Recordings of Crane’s sessions with the Joker.” Ruth took a deep breath. “For evidence.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said, as some of the coldness he felt towards her began to thaw. He wouldn't excuse her for her role in everything that was happening at the asylum, but she was trying to make amends and help in her own way, which was a start.

“Be warned, it won't make comfortable viewing.”

Bruce was already well aware of that and suppressed the shudder that made his pulse race. He waited a moment, offering Ruth the chance to give any final words, before he turned and made for the bathroom window through which he'd entered.

“You know, he kept asking for you,” the doctor called after him, making Bruce stop. “Every session I had. Said you two had something you needed to discuss.” There was a pause. “What _did_ you say to him?”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder at the woman, watching as dark eyes focused on him, assessing. The burning need to continue the conversation, to know exactly what the clown had said was nearly overwhelming, but he refused to give in. That was a talk he'd need to have with Joker, although when either of them might be ready for such a thing was anyone's guess.

Silently, Batman walked away.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Urrghhhhh I'm really hoping this chapter goes well. It was a damn sight easier to write than the last, so fingers crossed it's alright.  
> Thanks to the wonderful frenetic-kinetic for all her help.  
> Chapter 6 now has artwork, which can also be seen [ here](http://mellie-art.tumblr.com/post/154961132809/you-might-want-to-get-the-decorators-in-dear-i)

_“You know, he kept asking for you,”_

That sentence had haunted Bruce from the moment he'd left Ruth’s apartment. It was clearly referring to the discussion between him and Joker, but had he been asking to speak to Batman because he'd come to a decision? The idea scared Bruce far more than he could ever admit and adding in the factor of good behaviour gave him the terrible sinking feeling that Joker’s answer to the offer would have been yes.

To know he’d been so close...God, Bruce could barely stand it! His free hand kept clenching and that familiar itch returned full force, as the urge to vent his frustrations on the nearest solid object grew to unbearable levels. It was for that reason Bruce had avoided returning to the cave. His body was wound tight enough to snap, his limbs begging for an excuse to lash out and that was never a good frame of mind to be in around the clown.

A patrol was out of the question, too. Even without the assassins and Gotham’s finest on his back, Bruce wouldn't have been much help to the city in his distracted state. Anger was part of the fuel that kept Batman going, but even the scumbags of this city didn't deserve the sort of treatment they'd get if caught by him tonight.

So, instead, Bruce had driven back to the manor, hidden the car as best he could - it'd have to be moved in the morning - and sneaked into his bedroom. The tactic had also let him avoid Alfred. As understanding and well-attuned to Bruce’s moods as he could be, conversation was something Bruce really didn't have the energy for.

Dropping the data stick onto the desk, Bruce’s head fell into his hands and his fingers raked through his hair, before he resting his chin between his palms. Like a magnet, blue eyes were drawn back to the device that just sat there, looking so deceptively nondescript and innocent that he kept having to fight the urge to smash it to pieces. At least then he'd no longer have to worry about his latest dilemma.

Leaving Adams’ apartment, the night’s main objective had been clear: return to the cave and watch the videos. Well, he'd already skipped the first part and the rest of his time had been spent wondering whether to skip the second. It was vital evidence, Bruce knew that and the cynical part of him wanted to ensure he hadn't been duped, but another part was terrified of what he'd see and subsequently do if he did watch it. The remaining part was simply too pissed off to function.

Perhaps it would be better to leave it until the morning, face it with a fresh and clear head. It'd allow him some much needed time to process the situation, at least. He'd be able to view the videos a little more subjectively and, hopefully, keep his temper under control.

Bruce dismissed the idea immediately. As long as that data stick was in the building, taunting him with all sorts of imagined horrors, he wouldn't be able to get a wink of sleep or a moment’s peace. Perhaps skimming through the videos was a better idea. That way he'd see just enough to prove they were genuine without having to watch all the awful things Joker had endured. For a moment, Bruce was close to doing just that, even switching on the laptop and getting the stick ready.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that wouldn't work, either. Bruce knew damn well that once he started watching, he wouldn't be able to stop. What if he missed something important? Joker had said that the doctors’ tongues were looser when he was in a more addled state, so it was entirely possible that he might learn more about those behind all this. He could even find out the names of the doctors that had helped Crane with his experiments.

Bruce growled and his face fell back into his hands as he realised that, rather than fix his dilemma, he'd just talked himself back to square one.

A soft blue glow told him the laptop had finished powering up and when his eyes went to the screen, he was confronted with a view of the Batcave. Out of habit that had formed quickly over the past few days, Bruce immediately located Joker and saw him sitting on the floor, facing the wall. For a while, Bruce did nothing more than watch, trying to figure out what he was doing. Joker’s left hand was pressed against the wall, with his face not much further away, as he hummed an unrecognisable tune. From a distance, Bruce couldn't work out the reason for the position, but a quick zoom showed that Joker was scratching something into the wall using one of the links in his chains.

_J wuz ere._

Before he could even stop it, a soft sound, very close to laughter, fell from Bruce's lips. Joker certainly didn't need to resort to carvings to make his presence known and that was the moment Bruce realised the one detail he had completely overlooked.

 _Joker_.

Bruce was there, nearly pulling his hair out over the videos when the star of the show wasn't even aware of their existence. Normally, that wouldn't have had any bearing on Bruce's decision, but this felt different. It wasn't security feeds or CCTV they were dealing with. These were recordings made under far less than legal circumstances and would show Joker at his most vulnerable. If their roles were reversed, Bruce knew he'd be uncomfortable having himself seen in that state.

He thought back to what Ruth had said. Until now, Bruce hadn't been entirely convinced of Joker’s sincerity regarding the truce or the offer. The blueprints last night had helped, but it still wasn't enough to remove the doubt completely. Now, however, he'd discovered that Joker actually _had_ been open to the idea of change - for a few weeks at least. The effort was unrewarded, but the fact that the clown still hadn't completely dismissed Bruce's offer meant there was still hope. So, if Joker really _was_ serious about all this, it was time Bruce showed that the effort was still worth it. Bruce had said they would do this together and he needed to prove it. If that required him to work at changing a few of his own ways, then so be it.

And that was how, for the second time in as many days, Bruce did the unexpected.

-

“Why so glum, chum?”

Bruce’s eyes had been fixed on the hands clasped in his lap, but the voice made them swivel to look at the man sat opposite. Joker’s gaze was focused downwards, skimming through a newspaper, although whether he held any actual interest in current affairs wasn't clear. He'd complained about being bored, so Bruce offered the first thing to hand and it had managed to keep him reasonably occupied for the last twenty minutes.

The clown’s comments on the day’s news were minimal, with occasional mutterings of “ _dull”_ or “ _boring”_ interrupting the cave’s silence and the only spark of interest was a chuckle at a cartoon on page thirteen. In fact, the cartoons proved to be so amusing that joker felt the need to keep it and removed the entire page to do so.

The sudden movement sent droplets of water from freshly washed hair dripping onto the remaining pages. Bruce watched the spots darken and spread, as the clown started meticulously folding the edges around the cartoon, before tearing them. Bruce couldn't deny that the madman had been interesting to observe over the course of the last few days. He was well aware of the often obsessive focus and dedication the clown could put into a task - which was usually some grand scheme to terrorise the city - but he hadn't expected to see a similar level of attention given to more basic ones, such as combing his hair, tearing a slice of bread apart or ripping a picture out of the paper.

He could only hope the same approach would be used later down the line.

Joker hadn't received an answer to his question - although his habit for spewing whatever ramblings popped into his mind meant it was often hard to tell if he required one - and his eyebrows rose as their eyes met.

“Hmm?”

Bruce remained quiet and took a breath, before lifting his hand and placing the object it held onto the table. He hoped this act alone would be a strong statement, when Joker realised the importance of what had been handed to him. Joker’s head tilted to the side as he considered the data stick, before reaching out to pick it up.

“What's this?” He asked, twisting the device this way and that.

“Ruth Adams gave it to me,” Bruce replied. “It's recordings of your sessions with Crane.”

Joker’s eyes remained on the stick and he grimaced. “I didn't realise he'd _filmed_ them.” He chuckled. “Though I shouldn't be surprised. Creepy little weirdo.”

“He didn't,” Bruce explained. “Adams did.”

Joker's eyes widened a little and a gleam of intrigue shone within, as they turned back to Bruce. “Did she now?”

“She's also the one who helped you escape.”

“The sneaky little witch!” Joker chuckled, placing his elbows on the table before leaning forward. “I told you she liked me. I'll have to get her a thank you card.”

Bruce had been about to tell the clown not to bother, but held his tongue. Joker didn't need to know that the psychiatrist was now living in terror at the prospect of a visit from her former patient. It would only encourage him.

Joker’s laughter and smile slowly died as he resumed his inspection of the data stick and it was with a quieter voice and surprisingly earnest expression that he asked, “They provided adequate entertainment, I trust?”

Bruce tried to catch the clown’s gaze but failed. “I haven't watched them yet.”

"Huh.” There was surprise in Joker’s tone, but Bruce could tell he was trying to suppress it. “Thought you would've been first in line to get a glimpse at Arkham's Home Videos.”

Bruce took another deep breath. “I was going to,” he admitted and paused, about to deliver the line he'd spent a whole night preparing himself for.

Joker's head tilted again and he quirked an eyebrow. “ _But_..?”

“I wanted to get your permission, first,” Bruce finished and waited for Joker’s reaction. He hoped this didn't backfire.

Joker’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward again to assess Bruce, who quickly started to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Which was probably the intention.

“And if I said no?” Joker asked, his tone careful.

Bruce had considered the possibility the moment he decided to do this and was still no closer to deciding whether he preferred that answer. At least the choice would have been taken out of his hands. Shifting slightly in his seat, he answered. “Then...I wouldn't watch it.”

Joker, still holding the stick, folded his arms. “But what if I told you to destroy it? That I didn't want _anyone_ to see it?”

Bruce caught the challenge immediately and his eyes went straight to the device peeking out from under Joker’s armpit. The clown gave it a wiggle, almost taunting and Bruce felt the panic begin to bubble in his stomach, as he wondered whether handing over the device was a mistake. Joker could easily take matters into his own hands and, although Bruce knew the madman was no idiot, there was a little niggle at the back of his mind that wondered if the challenge masked a genuine desire to keep whatever had happened during those sessions private.

Bruce’s pulse started to speed up, as he tried very hard not to let his imagination run wild, despite it doing so ever since the previous night.

“I'd say,” he began, hoping Joker, if he really _did_ want it destroyed, would be open to negotiation. Bruce may have been tempted several times throughout the previous night to hurl the damn thing at a wall, but he'd kept enough sense not to. “That getting rid of it completely isn't a good idea. It's a strong piece of evidence.”

Joker said and did nothing and his bright eyes continued to hold Bruce's, who realised there was no getting out of this.

“But..,” he continued, reluctantly. Bruce hated the idea, downright _loathed_ it, as it left them entirely reliant on whatever information was extracted from Arkham's computers, but he also knew the sort of reaction he'd get if he went to the trouble of asking for permission, only to completely disregard the clown’s wishes if the answer didn't suit. There was no point in trying to change, if he was going to fall back on old habits moments later. “If you _really_ didn't want it used, then...I'd have to get rid of it.”

More silence followed and, if possible, Joker's gaze intensified, leaving Bruce to feel like something in a Petri dish being examined through a microscope. Then a wide grin spread across that pale mouth, but it was hard to tell whether the expression was good or bad.

“Well, I never,” he said, leaning back and the smile grew even wider. “Look at you, trying so hard. It's killing you, Bats, but you really _are_ trying. I'm almost proud!”

Relief started to trickle into Bruce's veins. “Almost?”

“Well, we wouldn't want you to get a swollen head now, would we?” Joker winked suggestively. “Not in _that_ way, at least.”

Joker erupted into laughter and it took a moment for Bruce to get the meaning, but when he did, he lowered his face into his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. Christ, but the man was hard work! Despite it all, though and probably fuelled by the relief that had gone from a trickle to a steady flow, Bruce had to fight to stop the corners of his mouth lifting and was only halfway successful.

When Joker eventually calmed down, Bruce risked a glance and saw that the clown had noticed his small smile. It wasn't mentioned, though.

“So,” Bruce said, moving the moment on. “What's your answer?”

Joker shrugged his shoulders and unfolded his arms, although he didn't return the data stick. “Watch it. Don’t watch it. Project it onto the side of Wayne Tower for the entire city to see. Makes no difference to me.”

Bruce nodded and there was a brief moment where he wondered if the last suggestion might not actually be such a bad idea. Arkham would have trouble avoiding repercussions then. Or maybe he was just overtired.

“I'll warn you, though,” the clown continued. “If you're gonna hold a public viewing, I'd give it a strict R rating.” His voice lowered. “For graphic sexual content.”

Bruce's heart almost stopped, as a shot of ice pierced it. He looked at Joker with wide eyes. “ _What_?”

Joker inclined his head and lifted his eyebrows, but didn't speak.

“They didn't-” Bruce couldn't bring himself to say the word. Experimentation with fear toxin was one thing - and terrible enough - but _that_? His stomach twisted.

Joker started laughing again. “Oh, calm down, I'm kidding! No need to get a doll and make me point at it's naughty parts just yet.”

The horror was quickly replaced with angry disbelief and Bruce looked incredulously at the clown. What the _Hell_? Crude innuendo he could just about handle, but rape jokes?

“That _isn't_ funny,” he declared, each word spoken carefully.

“I beg to differ,” Joker retorted, before stretching his arms out wide, gesturing to the cavernous space around them. “And as the only clown here present, I believe my authority on the matter trumps yours.”

He threw the data stick to Bruce, who only just managed to catch it. “Happy viewing, darling.”

Deciding it was best to quit while they were almost ahead, Bruce took the stick and left.

-

Jonathan Crane stood in the middle of a small, white room. His hair was neat and brushed back, glasses resting on the edge of his nose and over his simple but smart suit he wore a plain white lab coat. He looked, for all intents and purposes, like any other member of staff at Arkham and nobody unaware of the truth would have suspected otherwise.

Ahead of him, situated in the corner of the room by the door, was a tall, stocky man in white trousers and t-shirt, a large set of keys partially obscuring the baton hanging from his belt. His face was as expressive as stone, but anyone could see the man was a thug. It was etched into the lines of his face and Bruce took a dislike to him immediately.

Beside Crane was a wooden chair. Restraints were built into the armrests and front legs, leaving no doubts about its use, and along the back wall ran a table, where a host of bottles and needles of various sizes were neatly arranged.

 _Needles._ Bruce couldn't suppress a shiver when he spotted them and remembered Joker’s reaction to the injector jet back in the cave almost five days ago. Was that really all it was? It felt a lot longer.

The sound of a lock returned his attention to the video. The door started to open and the guard took a few steps forward, ready for the expected visitor. Crane remained where he was, although there was a slight, awkward shift in his posture.

Wearing a set of patient overalls that were made to seem off-white by his alabaster skin, Joker entered the room with a lazy stride. His eyes did one circle of the surroundings, before meeting the guard and a grin spread across his lips.

“Back for more, eh, big boy?” he said, expression instantly turning salacious. Of _course_ Joker would choose to flirt with the burliest and most hostile person in the building. “You'll have to be gentle with me this time, though. Still a little sore from the last session.”

The guard’s face remained stony as he was offered a wink and a giggle, before Joker’s eyes went to Crane. The flirting stopped instantly and green eyes cooled as his face turned impassive.

“Hello, Joker,” Crane said in his characteristically monotonous and slightly smug tone.

Joker didn't reply. Instead, he turned back to the door and knocked.

“Yeah?” came a gruff voice through the slot that had slid open.

“It would appear that some tumbleweed has blown into the room,” Joker said, his voice matching his expression. “I don't suppose you'd be a dear and sweep it away?”

The slot closed.

Joker shrugged and, now leaning against the door, spoke conversationally to the guard a couple of feet to his right. “You just can't get the staff these days.”

“Sit down,” Crane instructed, clearly annoyed at being ignored, before pointing to the chair.

At the sound of the command, Joker stiffened and his shoulders hunched ever so slightly. Bruce saw the fingers of his left hand, pressed against the door, slowly curl into a fist, as those of his right flexed. Although Joker’s face wasn't visible, it was clear a war raged within his mind and, recognising the signs, Bruce held his breath. This obviously wasn't his first session with Crane and he would've been well within his rights to kick off.

But he didn't. Because he was _behaving_. Bruce’s grip on the laptop tightened.

Instead, in a lightning-fast shift of demeanour, Joker's hands went into his pockets, as he spun to look at the man addressing him. “Quite happy standing, thank you.”

With a snap of Crane’s fingers, the guard moved towards Joker and the clown responded by holding his arms open wide and puckering his lips. The guard grabbed his arm and the back of his collar and shunted him over to the chair, before pushing him down onto it.

“No kiss?” Joker pouted, as the guard started fastening the restraints. “You know, playing hard-to-get only makes me want you _more_.”

Laughter echoed around the room, as each restraint was tugged to check its security. Straightening, the guard looked at Crane, who signalled to a spot by the wall with a wave of the hand. Bruce wasn't sure if Crane was unaware of the glare he received or had simply chosen to ignore it.

Joker blew the guard a loud kiss, as Crane went to the table and grabbed the bottle and needle nearest to him.

“So, what'll it be today?” Joker asked, turning his head round as much as possible to look at the man behind. “Another puff of your sissy potion? I hope you've improved the smell, at least. The last stuff stank worse than my ass after a dodgy paella.”

“Actually,” Crane replied, interrupting the chuckles and, for the first time, there was a little life in his voice. “I've been working on something special.”

“Oh?” Joker said and Bruce saw his interest in the tilt of his head.

“And I think the results should be far more effective than last time.”

Joker snorted. “Well, that shouldn't be hard!”

With the syringe full, Crane moved to stand in front of Joker and he took on the tone a mother would use on a small child. “Now, I'll need you to keep your arm still for me, or this will hurt.”

Joker’s gaze darkened. “Oh, but Mommy, I like it when it _hurts_.”

Crane ignored the comment and motioned for the guard to come forward. The burly man gripped Joker’s wrist and the spot just below the elbow to hold the arm in place, as Crane prepared to insert the needle.

“A prick from a prick!” Joker quipped and, catching the eye of the guard, he gave a suggestive lick of his top lip, as the liquid was emptied into his veins.

Keeping the syringe in hand, Crane took a few steps back and watched, the guard following suit. Even from a distance, Bruce could see the obsessive glint in the former doctor’s eyes, but his attention soon returned to Joker, who'd started giggling.

“Well,” he said, wriggling his fingers. “So far, so... _boring_!”

Crane didn't respond and just kept watching. Joker breathed out an unimpressed puff of air and began fidgeting his hands and feet as much as the restraints would allow. For several minutes, nothing else happened and Bruce wondered if this first video would be a gentle introduction into Crane’s sick experiments.

Sadly, any chance of that died when Joker gave his first frown. It was only brief and the expression looked more confused than anything, but it was enough to catch Crane’s interest. Joker let out a quick laugh, before frowning again and, this time, his fidgets weren't from boredom but discomfort. The clown continued in this way for a while, twitching, giggling and fidgeting and, eventually, shaking his head.

“Gotta...hand it to you, ‘Crow,” Joker said, his voice catching as his fists tightened. “This one's got a kick! I _must_...get the recipe.”

“We’re not quite finished, yet,” Crane said, returning to the table and refilling the syringe. As Joker was injected a second time, Bruce saw the clown’s hands clench into tight fists again and it was an ache of the fingers that made him realise he'd done the same.

As before, Crane stepped back to watch the results. With Joker’s body still feeling the effects from the first round, it took only seconds for the toxin to start working again and his laughter grew as the discomfort increased.

“O-oh yeah,” Joker stammered. “ _Definitely._..an...an improvement!” He continued chuckling, his fingers curling and uncurling as the toxin invaded his body. “I...I'm curious...though,” he continued and Bruce had to marvel at how even something like this couldn't shut him up. “These...have never worked...before.”

Well, Crane simply couldn't resist an opportunity like that.

“You remember the bloods that were taken last week, don't you?” he asked, moving closer to get an even better look at his victim. Bruce might have worried for his safety getting so close to the clown, if a part of him didn't believe Crane deserved whatever he got.

Busy swinging his head from left to right, Joker didn't reply.

“Well,” Crane continued. “Everybody’s samples got sent to the lab for me to test-”

That caught Bruce's attention. Lab? The recording was at least eight months old, when Crane was supposedly nothing more than an inmate. His official release hadn’t arrived until last week, so what the Hell had he been doing at a _lab_? And which one? Arkham didn't have a laboratory as far as Bruce was aware, which the building’s schematics - both fake and Joker’s version - confirmed. So where? And why had those responsible for letting him out allowed him to test patients’ blood? For the life of him, Bruce couldn't understand the motive and it left him, if possible, even more determined to get to Crane.

“-but I was allowed to keep yours.” Crane’s voice continued to drone on. “I've always wondered what it is that gives you such immunity to the things that have others drowning in pools of their own saliva. Ivy’s poisons don't work on you and neither do mine.” There was a cruel twitch of the lip, as he took a moment to asses Joker. “At least, they _didn't.”_

“W-what can I...say?” Joker retorted, a sheen of sweat now lining forehead. “I'm... _special_.”

At the last word, Joker gave a growl and it was so reminiscent of the state he'd been in during his arrival to the cave that Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat. That time, Joker had someone close by for support. In the recordings there was no one.

“It wasn't until I got to look at your sample that I realised why nothing worked. Your DNA really is unlike anything I have ever seen before. In fact, I'm not entirely sure you can even pass for human. I don't know what that chemical bath did to you, but it changed more than just your appearance, it seems.”

This wasn't news to Bruce. He'd had many opportunities over the years to study the clown’s biology, although exactly how the change had come about was still a mystery. By rights the man should have died the moment he fell into the vat of acid, but he'd come out the other side alive and well - physically, anyway. Mentally...well, that was a completely different story.

“I've been working on my fear toxin for years, now and it's taken a lot of trial and error to get it to its current potency.” Crane’s voice took on a whimsical tone. “Some of the things it can do to people-” He looked at Joker. “I think even _you_ would have to admit it's impressive.”

Through his struggle, Joker managed to give a snort of disbelief, as Crane walked back over to the table. This time, he didn't refill the syringe, but returned it to its allocated space and picked up a small canister instead.

“But that was always the problem, of course. It still doesn't work on _you._ You’re the Joker, the man who doesn't even have to be in the same room as someone to frighten them.”

Crane stood before Joker again, the canister clutched tightly in his right hand, as his finger caressed the trigger.

“If only I could figure out what frightens you, what keeps you up at night. If only I could reach into that deranged mind of yours and pluck out the nightmares. I wonder what I'd find.”

Joker managed to let out a bark of amusement. “I d-don't think even you...wanna go _there_.”

"Oh, but I do,” Crane replied. “My toxin can reduce the sanest, strongest men alive to nothing more than babbling infants. I could have the entire city falling to my knees in a matter of hours.”

His eyes met Joker’s.

“But, what good is that if there is still one man running around the city unaffected? My toxin is good, but if there are still those capable of resisting, then it isn't good _enough._ If I can make a toxin powerful enough to scare even the Joker, then I will truly be unstoppable.”

For a long moment, the room fell silent as Joker and Crane looked at one another. The clown was doing his damnedest to get his body under control and it looked to be working. The trembling had started to subside and Joker’s shaking stopped, meaning the second dose was starting to wear off. Bruce wasn't looking forward to seeing what the third did.

Then Joker began to laugh. It was quiet at first, nothing more than a low giggle, before quickly gathering volume and intensity. Within minutes the clown was cackling, his head thrown back and Crane’s face clouded with a thunderous expression.

“Y-you…” Joker paused, his words interrupted by the laughter and occasional shakes. “You think...that a little _pissant_ like you...can scare _me_? I eat fear for _breakfast,_ Sonny Jim _..._ and, right now, the only thing...in this room scaring me...is that hideous tie of yours!” There was a pause as Joker caught his breath. “But since I've survived its presence thus far...I'd say...even _that_ fear has been conquered!”

Crane stiffened, clearly annoyed by Joker’s insults, but he didn't bite. Instead, he moved closer again and held up the canister.

Joker’s lip curled derisively. “Pumping it through my veins hasn't worked. What's a puff...of smoke gonna do?”

“Oh, the injections were just for preparation,” Crane explained, the smugness returning. “To make your mind more...malleable, you could say. The fun - as I imagine you would call it - really begins with _this_.” He gave the canister a shake.

Joker was in the process of tipping his head back and Bruce was sure he'd been close to rolling his eyes, when large hands came to rest either side of the clown’s head.

“Ooh, I didn't realise...head massages were part of the service. Can I get a...full body one?”

Crane took a step forward, as Joker chuckled at his own joke and their knees came close to bumping together. His arm extended and a thumb and forefinger reached for Joker’s nose, before pinching the nostrils closed, as parents would to force feed a child. Joker tried dislodging the grip by turning his face away, but the guard’s palms pressed in hard to keep him in place.

Bruce could feel pity sting in his chest. This wasn't just cruel, it was _humiliating_ and Bruce knew that if there was one thing the clown couldn't stand, it was being made to look a fool. Sure, he'd play the role if it benefitted his situation, but that was through choice. Here, he was being stripped of that and, although his features gave little away, Bruce could tell Crane was enjoying it.

Of course, Joker knew why Crane was holding his nose. He wanted to force the clown into breathing in the toxin, but Joker wasn't going to comply. He resolutely kept his mouth shut and refused to open it, even as his cheeks grew pink and his knees started bobbing rapidly.

After almost two minutes of holding his breath, it became clear that Joker would rather make himself pass out than do as he was told, so Crane released his nose and stepped back. His eyes met those of the guard and, for the first time since the video began, actually spoke to him.

“Do it.”

The guard moved around the seat to face Joker and, without a hint of ceremony, ploughed a fist into the madman’s stomach. Wheezing from the attack, Joker folded as far as the restraints would allow and, before he could recover, fingers buried into his hair and pulled his head up.

Joker reflexively gulped in air and that was when Crane pushed the trigger.

A cloud of white engulfed the madman and he started to splutter and cough as the smoke entered his lungs. For a moment it looked as though he might try holding his breath again, but the guard, still holding Joker’s hair, gripped his chin and fingers dug into the hollows of his cheeks, forcing the mouth to remain open.

The canister’s nozzle was pushed between Joker’s teeth and Crane pressed the trigger again.

“Breathe it in,” Crane demanded, his voice still calm and monotone, as the canister was removed.

The guard moved his hand from Joker’s chin to cover his mouth and the clown let out a muffled scream that was half fury, half terror. His eyes went wide and he tried to shake his head, but the guard’s grip left him immobilised. More howls and cries slipped through the fingers and he started blinking furiously, as if hoping that could will away the horrors beginning to appear before his eyes. But Crane wasn't having any of that, either. He crouched in front of his test subject and used his fingers to force the green eyes open.

Joker bucked in his seat at the contact, but the guard ensured he was left with no choice but to comply.

“No, no, keep them open,” Crane urged, his quiet voice dripping with glee. “I want to see the horror in your eyes!”

Joker kept trying to move his face away and, when it became clear he couldn't, he started thrashing, his wrists and ankles fighting against the restraints. His breathing became laboured and the muscles in his arms and neck went taut.

“Do you feel that?” Crane asked. “That is _fear_.”

It took over an hour for the toxin to run its course and Bruce watched every second of it, a mixture of rage, horror and disgust swirling in his gut. By the time the poison had finished it's work, Joker was an exhausted heap, slumped as far as the restraints would allow, his chest heaving with laboured breaths.

Crane crouched in front of Joker again and his voice adopted a softer, condescending tone. “You'll be taken to your room, now,” he said. “And I want you to get plenty of rest in time for our next session.”

Joker had just enough energy left to offer the former doctor a deathly glare.

And that was just the beginning. Ruth wasn't lying when she said things got worse. At first, the sessions were held twice a week, as Crane tested his most basic toxins on Joker, watching and recording the clown's responses in his journal, ignoring whatever quips or insults were thrown his way. But as the strength of the poison grew and Joker needed more time to recover, the sessions lost frequency. They went from twice to once a week and, occasionally, there would be almost a fortnight between them. Those sessions were particularly bad and they scalded Bruce's insides with rage.

As the time passed, both in the recordings and in real life, Joker’s physical deterioration became evident. He lost weight, sharp cheekbones grew in prominence, his hair growing and the green dye fading until it was its natural white once more. His eyes, however, remained as unnaturally bright as ever, the shadows surrounding them grew darker and darker. At first, he'd often been able to stumble out of the room by himself, but it soon became common for him to be carried out, barely conscious.

His moods dropped, too. After several months of suffering at the hands of malpractice, he lacked the energy to keep up his routine flirting and harassment of the guard and he no longer waltzed into the room whistling a tune.

That didn't, however, mean his spirit was broken completely. No matter how awful the treatment got, however much of the clown Crane tried to strip away, Joker never truly lost his fight. Bruce could see it clear as day in the clown's tone of voice, the line of his shoulders, the blazing fire in his eyes. Even as Joker’s body weakened with every assault, the stubborn bastard never lost that shred of defiance and, just like he had when first bringing Joker to the cave, Bruce had to admire that. Many, many men would have cracked and understandably so, but not Joker. It was the only glimmer of light Bruce could find in the entire situation.

But even a man like the Joker had limits.

It was towards the end of the last month of recordings that Bruce saw the moment the fight started to wane. The second Joker walked into the room, almost a shadow of his former self, Bruce saw just how weary he'd become of it all. There was no cockiness in his body language, no swing to the arms as he walked. He simply looked _tired_.

Alarmed by the almost defeated body language, Bruce zeroed in on Joker’s face, desperate to see that spark there, to know that Crane hadn't quite succeeded in putting the fire out.

Those green eyes took one look at the guard, then Crane and finally the chair.

“Not today, _gentlemen_ ,” Joker said, all but spitting out the last word. “I'm not in the mood.”

As always, the guard came forward and reached for Joker, but this was one of those days that the clown refused to cooperate. He bucked, growled and hissed as the guard tried to jostle him into the seat, bony arms and legs swinging, as fingers started clawing.

When it became clear that more than one person would be required to force Joker’s cooperation, Crane summoned the guards stationed outside the room and the two men raced in, each trying to grab whatever part of Joker they could reach. But even they struggled.

Joker moved like a man possessed and Bruce had to wonder where he found the strength. When restraining failed, the guards resorted to violence and it was after several blows to the stomach and three to the face that Joker finally fell to the floor and went still.

Blood dropped from his nose and mouth, staining the white overalls and his eyes were pure hatred, as they glared at the two guards strapping him into the chair.

When he was sure it was safe, Crane moved to face Joker and, after a quick assessment of the damage, let the corner of his mouth curl upwards.

“You'll need to save your energy,” he said. “I have something special planned for today.”

Joker spat a mouthful of blood at the former doctor in reply and Crane looked down at the spot where crimson now stained his trouser leg. He frowned in disgust and his eyes returned to Joker.

“We’ll get on with it then, shall we?”

Crane walked over to the table and picked up three items: a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, a black sack and a gag. Bruce's entire body went cold.

“We’re very close to perfecting the toxin, now,” Crane said, carrying the items over to the guard. “So I thought we’d try something new.”

“I have a suggestion,” Joker declared, the loathing in his eyes filtering into his voice. “How about you just kill me?”

“That would hardly be conducive to my experiments,” Crane replied.

“You should, y’know,” Joker continued. “While you have the chance. Because when I get out of here, I'm gonna find you, I'm gonna _hurt_ you and, by the time I've finished you won't be taking that toxin to _give_ yourself nightmares. You'll need it to _stop_ them.”

Then came he first smile Joker had given in weeks. The spark was still there and Bruce let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

Crane paused and looked at Joker for a second, considering the threat, before ordering the guard to gag him. Joker tried biting his hand, but was rewarded with a hard slap across the face and the momentary disorientation was enough to fit and secure the gag in place.

“You've heard of sensory deprivation, I presume?” Crane asked, handing the sack to the guard. “Over the years, I've found that external stimuli can often enrich the experience my toxin provides. However, in order to truly test its effectiveness, I like to remove all of that and see what it can _really_ do to a person’s mind.”

Through the gag, Joker growled as the thick black sack was placed over his head.

“This is a delicate step and one I do not like to rush. As you can imagine, it’s not easy on the brain, capable of doing irreparable damage and, when a patient possesses a mind like yours, that risk increases exponentially. But I think you're ready.”

The headphones were last to be fitted. Crane gave them a quick shuffle to ensure they were positioned correctly, before moving behind Joker and standing by his left ear. He brought his hands together in a loud clap and the sound echoed off the walls of the room. Joker didn't flinch.

Now armed with a syringe, Crane stood in front of his victim and, as always, the guard held Joker’s arm still for the injection.

“Turn down the lights,” he instructed, before taking a few steps back to watch the results of his latest experiment.

The room dimmed and Bruce was forced to change the brightness of the screen in order to see what was happening. His heart was pounding against his chest and it took every bit of willpower to keep watching. He couldn't be a coward, not with this. He needed to know what had happened, what he had _let_ happen.

Given months to perfect the toxin being used on Joker, the effect was immediate. Hands and feet started twitching, the movement sporadic at first, but soon growing in frequency and his head started moving, twisting left to right, up and down, shaking wildly. His fists smacked against the armrests, before his fingers gripped them tightly and his body started rocking, trying and failing to keep the imaginary monsters at bay.

Choked whines, muffled cries and furious howls came from Joker’s gagged mouth. As far as Bruce was aware, gags weren't necessary for sensory deprivation, but he knew why Crane had used it. Just another way to take control away from his victim.

Within minutes, Joker was a writhing, thrashing mess and Bruce winced with every sound that came from his mouth, the knife that had been plunging deeper with every recording twisting painfully. He started to find himself unable to keep still, as his distress at the situation rose. He fidgeted in his seat, hands itching to do something - _anything -_ to release some of the furious tension building within. His breathing grew heavier, as the bubbling rage started to boil. His eyes were unable to leave Joker and that was a good thing, because Bruce knew if he dared even risk a glance at Crane, seeing the dispassionate, calculating expression on that face, he would have snapped.

Despite the gag, Joker’s cries still bounced off every wall of the room and, at one point, Bruce had to cover his ears, unable to withstand them.

The torture lasted almost an hour and, by the end, Joker’s body was wracked with violent tremors. His clothing was stained with patches of bloody saliva that dripped from his mouth and there were livid red marks around his wrists and ankles, signalling his furious struggle against the restraints. The snarls that had been fuelled by anger were now the pitiful whines of a man desperate for his torment to end and he no longer had the energy to move. He slouched in the seat, head lolling languidly from side to side, as the terror concocted purely by his own awful imagination continued its assault.

Eventually, sensing he'd get little more out of the clown, Crane signalled for the lights to be turned up, before walking over to Joker. He removed the headphones and handed them to the guard, before whipping off the sack. Joker, unused to the sudden brightness, shrank away from the light, but Crane made him face forwards and the guard untied the gag. It was soaking wet and fell to the floor with a slap.

With the sack removed, Bruce wished there was a way to zoom in on Joker’s face. He desperately wanted that spark to still be there. He _needed_ it to be.

Joker gulped in breaths of air, his eyes unnaturally wide, as unintelligible babble started sputtering from his lips.

“What was that?” Crane asked, far too pleased with the results of his sick handiwork.

“B..b-b-b-”

“I'm afraid you'll have to repeat that,” Crane said.

Bruce hoped for Crane’s sake that he never found him. Or he would have, if he wasn't already too far gone to care.

"B...b-b...Ba-”

“B-b-b,” Crane parroted, his voice turning cruel. “B-b-Bat? Batman? You want the Batman, is that what you're trying to say?”

_“You know, he kept asking for you.”_

Crane’s voice softened to almost a whisper of malicious delight, his head slowly shaking with mock regret. “Oh, I'm sorry, Joker, but Batman can't save you. Not _this_ time.”

Joker’s eyes flitted left to right, as the words slowly sank in. When they did, he roared.

Bruce’s vision turned red.

Pushing away from the desk, he ignored the sound of the chair toppling backwards, as he marched to the door. Sounds from the recordings followed him out of the room and his footsteps tried to drown them out, thundering against the floor as his heart pounded in his chest. Blood roared past his ears and they started to ring as all the fury that had been building with every recording threatened to spill over.

Bruce wanted to hit something. No, he wanted to hit _someone_. His palms stung with the itch to find Jonathan Crane and beat him senseless. He wanted to tear the fucking manor apart room by room, until his limbs couldn't move and his head stopped throbbing. He wanted to shout, scream and howl into the air until his throat was raw. He wanted…he wanted...

He wanted to say sorry.

This was his fault. All of it. Bruce had put Joker in that Hellhole. Of course, it wasn't the first time Batman had sent the clown to the asylum and there was no way he could have known what would happen, but it was the first time Bruce had left him alone for such a long period of time. Normally, Batman would pay Arkham a few “unofficial” visits, to keep an eye on the clown and ensure he wasn't causing too much trouble. This time, however, he'd left him alone, given him the time he'd requested, for once trying his damndest to respect the man’s wishes in the hope that it might reinforce the notion of change.

At least, that was the reasoning Bruce had used at the time. Now he was forced to confront the fact that it was fear motivating his absence far more than respect. He’d been afraid to go back, as terrified of the answer he'd receive as he was anxious for it. He'd been a _fucking coward_ and Joker - as well as the rest of Arkham - had payed the price.

But that was going to change. Bruce was going to stop this, stop Crane and the pieces of shit responsible for it all. Then he was going to do everything he possibly could to make sure it _never_ happened again.

But there was something he had to do first.

“Master Wayne?”

Alfred's voice managed to cut through the heady haze of anger and guilt, as Bruce strode past.

“Not now, Alfred,” he said, in no mood for conversation.

Putting the tray he'd been carrying carefully onto the floor, Alfred followed him. “Master Wayne!”

“ _Not now!”_ Bruce growled, losing the ability to keep his temper under control.

“Bruce.”

The call of his name and the tone used had him skidding to a halt. Alfred took it as a sign to continue.

"Don't go down there,” he urged. “Not yet.”

Bruce’s fists clenched yet again and a part of him hated that the old man was able to read him so well.

“Go for a walk, a run, a drive. Smash your head against a bloody wall if you have to, but don't go down _there_.”

Bruce's first instinct was to rebel. Alfred hadn't seen the videos, hadn't seen the awful torture Crane inflicted, hadn't seen the way a man who'd always been thrumming with energy, colour and life was reduced to a dribbling, trembling echo of himself. Bruce needed to do this, he needed to speak to Joker and explain himself, promise that he'd make Crane pay, that it would _never_ happen again.

_You are safe. Understand?_

Bruce took a few deep breaths, before turning his head slightly, so that Alfred was visible in the corner of his eye. “I have to-”

“Whatever you have to say to him can wait,” Alfred said patiently. “Give yourself time to calm down.”

Silence fell and the two men remained still. Bruce's head was starting to feel sore and it was a pain that sank right down into his centre. He tried to think of a way to convince Alfred, but his mind was far too muddy to function properly and that was when he realised that perhaps the old man was right. In this mood, just one remark could make him snap and, the more he considered it, the more he wondered what the Hell he would say to Joker anyway. The clown wouldn't want apologies, he'd want to see that things were getting done and there was only one way to do that.

Turning his face to its previous position, away from Alfred, Bruce breathed deeply, hoping the cool air would help extinguish a little of the fire. It wasn't entirely successful, but enough to make him take Alfred's advice.

Looking back over his shoulder at Alfred, Bruce nodded and walked away as a new goal came to mind.

Batman was going to find Crane and, whether the sick bastard liked it or not, he was going to _talk_.

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAsdgash! I'm so sorry for the wait for this update. Real life is a pain in the ass, although, to be honest, the real delay has come from me worrying about how this chapter has turned out. My apologies to all those I kept badgering with snippets of this fucking thing. I love every single one of you!  
> Chapter 7 now has artwork, which can also be seen on my tumblr [here](http://mellie-art.tumblr.com/post/155644470839/scene-from-chapter-7-of-a-new-game-wip-can-be)

Lucius might have done a double take seeing a half naked Bruce in his office, if he hadn't already got used to all the weird and wonderful entrances made over the years. This wasn't the first time Bruce had been seen this way, when de-suiting and making himself presentable at home wasn't an option, and it wouldn't be the last.

“I’m sure I remember telling you I'd call when the files were done,” he remarked, wandering over to the large glass panels offering unrivalled views of Gotham. Yes, Lucius was used to the sight of Bruce undressing, but that didn't mean he wanted to watch.

“Yeah,” Bruce said, hoping his voice didn't sound quite as exhausted as he felt. He couldn't remember when such a short period of time had taken so much out of him. After buttoning up the fly of his trousers, he reached for the pinstripe shirt. “Just thought I'd see how they were coming along.”

“You're getting impatient, you mean.”

Bruce almost smiled at the comment. Impatient didn't even _cover_ it.

“Well,” Lucius said, turning back around to face Bruce now that the majority of his body was covered. “You'll be glad to know that they're almost finished.”

Well if that wasn't just the best damn piece of news Bruce had heard all week. “Really?” He looked up, feeling some much wanted - and needed - optimism trickle into his body. It wasn't enough to cool the burning in his veins, not by a long shot, but it helped soothe it. A little.

It was fighting a losing battle, though, because what currently fuelled the fire was the fact that Crane’s trail had gone cold. Actually, no. Going cold suggested it had been warm at some point, but the hunt for Crane had been glacial from start to finish. Bruce had spent hours moving across the city, checking known addresses, hideouts, homeless shelters and hospitals. Nothing. He was even going to check Blackgate’s systems when he returned to the manor, but already knew it’d be just another dead end. It didn't help that Bruce had been forced to do his hunt during daylight hours, either. It could have waited until nightfall, when he had Batman’s near limitless resources at his disposal, but Bruce wanted to do something _now_. His brain had been screaming for distraction from the moment he left the manor, wanting something else to focus on, anything that might push the images of the haggard, emaciated Joker to the back of his mind - even if only for a few hours.

But it hadn't worked and, in truth, Bruce hadn't expected it to. Hoped, maybe, but never expected. There wasn't anything that could erase those foul images chasing circles in his brain and, even if Crane _had_ been found, seeing the man would’ve only added fuel to the rage. On reflection - and when lucidity returned - Bruce would admit that Crane’s temporary disappearance was probably for the best.

But a lead might have made him feel a little less...redundant. Progress was going far too slowly and when every snippet of information he got carried a dozen more questions with it, he was left wondering if this puzzle would _ever_ be solved.

“How much longer do you think it'll take?” Bruce asked, returning to the present.

Lucius considered for a moment, as he walked over to stand beside him. “If I'm optimistic, I'd say tomorrow, but give it until the day after just to be sure.” He smirked. “If you can wait that long.”

Bruce nodded, leaning back against the desk, and tried not to think about just _how_ long that wait would feel, especially as failure to find Crane meant he wouldn't have anything to occupy his time. Well, nothing except the man living in the cave, that is.

Bruce knew his next visit down there was going to be difficult, no matter how much time he gave himself. Seeing Joker through the filter of knowledge he now had of Crane’s awful abuse…

Bruce rubbed a hand over his eyes, as if hoping his fingers could erase it.

“Everything alright?” Lucius asked, a gentle frown settling on his features. “Besides the obvious, of course.”

Bruce let out a long breath. Lucius wasn't aware of the Joker’s current location. Nobody was, except for the three residents of Wayne Manor and he intended to keep it that way. As with Gordon, it wasn't distrust of _Lucius_ that held him back, but his distrust of everyone else around him. The fewer who knew where Joker was, the safer _everyone_ would be.

“I'm fine,” Bruce lied, knowing damn well Lucius would see through it, but also knowing he wouldn't pry. “Just...tired and frustrated.”

“Good to see that some things never change,” Lucius chuckled and Bruce nearly did too. He may not have the answers he wanted, but at least talking to Lucius was a welcome breath of fresh, _normal_ air. He could be counted on for many things, but that was often the thing Bruce appreciated most. And it went doubly now.

Lucius gave the fully-clothed Bruce a quick once over. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Bruce saw the unasked question in Lucius’ gaze and shook his head. “No, not right now. I just felt like getting out of those.” He waved a hand at the pile of ragged clothes now littering the floor. Dressing like a tramp had been necessary to remain incognito during his hunt across the city, but it wasn't an image he wanted to adopt.

And, of course, he couldn't explain that this visit had been nothing more than an attempt to stall. As much as Bruce wanted to return to the cave, the sensible portion of his brain kept reminding him that he wasn't quite ready, yet. He was still far too tightly wound up to risk seeing Joker and the guilt and rage fuelled headaches that'd plagued him all day weren't helping one bit.

Then there was the nasty, cowardly little part that wanted to keep bolting in the opposite direction and Bruce was trying his very best to smother it. It'd caused enough trouble already.

“In that case,” Lucius said, his deep, steady tone interrupting Bruce's thoughts. “How are you getting home? I have a few things left to finish up here, but they shouldn't take long.”

“It's alright,” Bruce said, reaching for his suit jacket. “My car’s nearby.”

Lucius nodded, as Bruce made his way to the door. “Well, in that case, drive safely, Mister Wayne.”

“Always do,” Bruce retorted.

“The news reports say _otherwise_.”

Bruce finally cracked a small smile, before leaving the office.

-

It was almost eleven by the time the creaking of the manor doors announced Bruce's return. He wasn't sure whether Alfred would still be awake, but the old man was there in the lounge, waiting in a chair by the fireplace. Blue-grey eyes lifted from the pages of a book to watch as Bruce dropped into the chair opposite and started raking his fingers through his hair.

“You need a haircut,” Alfred observed, placing the book on the arm of his seat. “You may be a trendsetter, but bringing back the mullet is probably a stretch, even for you.”

“Then book it for me,” Bruce replied, letting his head fall back as he closed his eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to take an impromptu catnap, but all the things making his pulse race wouldn't let his mind settle.

“I take it you didn't find him, then,” Alfred said, removing his glasses.

“No.” Bruce's lids lifted to look at the old man again. “I've looked everywhere, but, for now, he's disappeared. I don't know how Joker managed to find him, but…”

Bruce paused. How _had_ the meeting between him and Crane been arranged? Who'd contacted who? He had a suspicion that the meeting might have been Joker’s doing, but couldn't be absolutely sure.

They were yet more questions, but, this time, they were welcome ones. They offered Bruce a point of focus, something his mind could latch onto, distracting from the heaviness that’d undoubtedly settle in his gut when he went to see Joker. At least he hoped they would. Things with the clown never were predictable.

“Master Wayne?” Alfred called, clearly wondering where Bruce's mind had wandered off to.

“I think Joker might know where Crane is,” Bruce said. “Or, how to find him, at least. I’ll need to ask him.”

Alfred’s gaze intensified, as he studied Bruce carefully. “And when do you plan on doing that, sir?”

Bruce didn't answer right away. His first reaction was to go immediately, but quickly reminded himself of why that was a bad idea. He may be prone to impatience, but he wasn’t an idiot - not always, anyway. Leaving the discussion until the next day would offer just a bit more time to calm himself and go in with a fresher head.

He just had to keep telling himself that.

“I'll wait until morning, don't worry.” Bruce replied and was rewarded with a small smile.

“Good,” Alfred said, levering himself out of the chair. “Have you eaten?”

Bruce tried not to look too sheepish as he shook his head. He may have been alarmingly close to middle age, but still hated that disapproving lift of the old man’s eyebrows as much as he had during childhood.

“I’d best rustle something up, then, hadn't I?” Alfred declared, heading for the kitchen.

Bruce and his stomach agreed that it was the second best thing they'd heard all day.

-

The metallic clanging of the elevator rebounded furiously off the walls, but Bruce barely heard it. He was too busy trying to keep his heart rate under control.

He thought he'd be more prepared for this, he really did. But even with the security net his questions about Crane provided, he still had to get to the point of asking them. Until then, the conversation was going to be stilted and awkward, especially as all his brain wanted to think about was the last sound he'd heard coming from Joker’s terrified lips.

And once Bruce started down _that_ road, a barrage of images of all the events leading up to that scream smashed against his skull. It was enough to bring his hand to the lever that would send him back up.

_No!_

The word was short and sudden, but it was enough. Enough of cowardice, enough of _running away_. It was time to deal with this and - hopefully - move on.

The elevator hit the floor with a rattle and it jarred every one of Bruce's bones. The doors opened and he was greeted with the sight of Joker sat cross-legged on top of the table with arms stretched out wide, a large grin on his face.

“Darling!”

Bruce faltered. Whatever greeting he'd expected, it hadn't been that.

And _that_ smile, plastered on _that_ face, which he’d last seen contorted in horror...

Joker hopped down from the table and hissed, hand going to the rib that had been aggravated. It was just enough to pull Bruce back to reality and remind his feet to move forward.

Joker spotted the tray in Bruce's hands and the fact that it held two plates of food this time, rather than one. His head tilted to the side as the smile returned.

“Am I to have company for breakfast?” He asked. “How delightful!” Joker took a seat and laced his fingers together, bringing them up to provide a rest for his chin.

Bruce approached cautiously, wondering what might have caused the sudden shift in mood. Joker hadn't been this animated since his arrival to the cave and Bruce couldn't figure out whether that was good or bad. Reaching the table, his eyes reluctantly left Joker to place the tray down, before he went over to the desk and grabbed one of the swivel chairs.

Joker was leaning over the tray, inspecting and sniffing the food when Bruce returned.

“So what's it today, my liege?” He asked, reaching for the plate nearest to him. “Eggs benedict?” Joker’s voice lifted in approval and his eyes went to Bruce. “Oh, Batsy, you spoil me!”

Bruce remained silent, sitting and grabbing his own plate, before removing the tray and placing it on the floor beside him. As usual, Joker didn't immediately start eating, but scraped the eggs and bacon off the muffin, before tearing it into small pieces. Bruce couldn't even begin to understand the thought process behind it and didn't bother to try, lifting a fork to tuck into his own food instead.

Having breakfast with Joker hadn't been part of the original plan. Bruce was going to get up, eat, shower and ensure he was absolutely ready, before heading down to the cave. But then he'd spotted Alfred cooking and realised there was no point in delaying it any longer. If he wasn't ready by _now_ , he never would be. Bruce had also hoped the task of eating might help deflect some of the tension twisting his gut, but so far it wasn't working.

As they ate - or _Bruce_ ate as Joker mangled his food beyond recognition - Bruce's gaze refused to leave the clown and he couldn't stop his mind comparing the man before him to the one in those damn recordings. Green hair was swinging backwards and forwards in front of Joker’s eyes, which had been limp and stringy in the videos, the colour dull and lifeless, but now it almost gleamed underneath the spotlights of the cave. His forearms were visible below the rolled up sleeves and Bruce could see the blue veins protruding underneath the white skin. They’d once been swimming with toxin and although their tracks were littered with the scars of those needles - Bruce’s fingers twitched - at least they were now blessedly free of that poison.

Joker’s face was the last thing to be studied and Bruce was glad to see the bruises fading. Several days of regular meals and plenty of rest also meant that his cheeks - although still too sharp and gaunt - were looking a little healthier than when he'd first arrived.

Joker noticed the attention and lifted an eyebrow. “See something you like?”

Bruce did, actually, but didn't say anything and their eyes locked. Joker’s were so bright and green, glowing with life and that irrepressible spark and it was a sight he’d never imagined welcoming so much.

He wasn't sure how long the eye contact lasted, but Joker was the first to break it.

“You were gone a while, you know,” Joker said, mouth full of the food he'd only just started to consume. “Was beginning to think you'd forgotten all about little ol’ me.”

It'd been an entire day, in fact, the longest time they'd spent apart for almost a week. Bruce's discomfort grew as he knew they were nearing that dreaded topic of conversation.

“The recordings must have been absolutely riveting to keep you away that long.”

 _Riveting_. That wasn't the word Bruce would use.

“They were…” he began, trying to find some description that could possibly fit. “Informative.”

Joker let out a loud _ha_ before dropping his fork and leaning back. The look he gave was almost incredulous. Bruce had never been great with words, so why that might have surprised Joker by now he didn't know.

“ _Informative_?” Joker parroted, leaning forward. The hyperactivity was still there and an edge started creeping in that Bruce didn't like. “No need to be diplomatic, dear. They were downright awful!” He chuckled. “And I should know, I was there!”

Bruce swallowed. God, he _really_ wasn't prepared for this. The urge to bolt came back and he'd never been more tempted to listen.

“Yes,” he quietly agreed and it took a ridiculous amount of willpower to keep his eyes on Joker.

For a second time, they did nothing but stare at each other, until Joker picked up his fork again and shovelled in another mouthful.

“But, of course,” he said, the words struggling to make their way out through the food. “All that _unpleasantness_ could have been avoided if you'd bothered to visit every once in a while.”

And there it was. With the precision of a laser, Joker had zeroed in on the source of Bruce's anxieties and blown it wide open. And Joker _knew_ it, of course. Bruce could tell in the way those eyes regarded him, in the way he could feel that edge sharpening and it was clear that this was another challenge.

And _this_ time, Bruce knew without a doubt that the challenge was being used as a mask. Joker wasn't happy about being made to look weak and vulnerable. But Bruce had offered him the choice and Joker could have easily said no, so why didn't he? The answer was obvious. It was punishment. Joker knew what watching those recordings would do to Bruce and now he was going to place at least some of the blame at his feet.

And Bruce would take it. Because he _deserved_ it.

He briefly thought of the questions regarding Crane and cursed his own stupidity for imagining there was any such thing as a safety net around Joker.

“So why didn't you?” Joker asked, tone deceptively conversational, his eyes back on his plate. “And don't give me that crap about the staff blocking you.” His gaze lifted for a third time and he wagged his fork accusingly. “That never stopped you before!”

 _B_ _ecause I'm a coward_ , was the first thing that came to mind, but Bruce wouldn't admit that in a million years. Not out loud, anyway. And with the way Joker was looking at him, there was every chance he'd guessed already.

“You said you needed time,” Bruce answered, knowing what a poor excuse for an answer it was. His eyes desperately wanted to drop to the table, but he forced them to remain where they were. “I wanted...to respect that.”

Joker went still. Something flared in his eyes and his eyebrows slowly lifted, as the words sank in.

“Respect…”

Joker started to laugh. It was a chuckle at first and that was more than enough to make Bruce's skin prickle, but when it grew into giggling, before becoming loud enough to bounce off every one of the rocky walls surrounding them, Bruce had to fight the urge to cover his ears. Joker's hands went to his face, moving up and down as his shoulders shook with the muffled laughter spewing from his lips. His fingers slid up into his hair, curling into fists as he gave the strands a violent tug, before the fists came down hard onto the table.

“ _Respect_?” he repeated, lips twisting in derision. His voice was quiet and the chuckles continued, but a ferocity simmered underneath that was desperate for release. “You mean to tell me that I spent almost a year in that dump, just so you could finally exercise a little _civility_?” A final bitter bark of laughter fell from his mouth. “Hell of a time to start, Bats!”

Bruce's body shifted defensively. He'd known Joker long enough to spot the warning signs and the sirens were seconds away from wailing.

“And was it worth it?” Joker asked, leaning forward. “Hmm? Do you feel better now finally following some of those ridiculous laws you’ve always claimed to uphold?”

“Joker-” Bruce began, but was ignored.

“Is your conscience light and free, darling?” Joker’s fingers danced in the air above his head. “Able to hold that empty head of yours a little higher, are we?”

“ _Joker_ -”

There was a snarl and the table was flipped over. Bruce was on his feet in an instant as the plates and cutlery clattered loudly to the floor.

“Together!” Joker yelled, any trace of humour - both genuine and otherwise - gone. “Every step of the way. _You_ said that.” He jabbed a finger at Bruce. “Those were your _exact words_!”

There was a pause and Bruce didn't know if he was expected to say something. What could he have said anyway?

Joker took a step back, arms opening out wide.  “But we weren't, were we, Batsy? Hmm? No, you ran off, cavorting that leather-clad ass all over Gotham and left me to rot in that-" his leg shot out to kick the chair out of his path. "- _fucking cesspool_ they call an asylum!”

“I didn't-”

“I even tried _behaving myself_ , Bats! Me! Took my medicine like a good little boy and everything.”

That wasn't news to Bruce, but hearing it come from the man himself made the knowledge sting even more.

“And for _what_? Just to have that _imbecile_ turn me into his own personal little lab rat?”

Bruce's mouth opened again, but the words weren't able to come out, because Joker wasn't finished and there wasn't a damn thing that'd stop him until he was. Joker stepped forward, reducing the space between them to mere inches.

“And I waited for you, you know,” Joker said. “Every day. Week after week. Month after month. Waited for those stupid, pointy little ears-” His hands came up and swatted Bruce's temples. “-and that stupid swooshy cape-” He smacked Bruce's shoulders. “-and that, quite frankly, _ridiculous_ growl.”

Joker gripped Bruce's chin and shook it in time with each word. “Waited and waited and _waited_. But you never showed, did you? You were _supposed_ to show, Batman!”

Bruce's chin was released and a smile returned to Joker’s face, but it was far from friendly.

“I mean, did you spare a thought for me _at all_?” His hands came up again and he started flicking Bruce's forehead. “Was there space left for the crazy little clown between the self-righteous prick and the vapid yuppie?”

Bruce moved his head to try and dodge Joker’s attacks, but those hands were too quick. Part of him wanted to grab the clown by the collar of his shirt and shove him backwards, just to put some space between them, but that’d take them down a path that wouldn't end well.

“So busy playing the hero and throwing his weight around that there wasn't time to even bother keeping-” _Flick_ “-his-” _Flick_ “-word!”

Oh, that _hurt_ and Joker's attacks were relentless as he continued.

“So quiet, now, Batman,” he said, his tone softer but no less mocking. “Where's the oh-so-eloquent vigilante that was ready to take a bullet, hmm?”

The flicking turned to tapping and that was when Bruce decided he'd had enough. His hands shot out and caught Joker’s wrists.

“Stop,” he demanded.

“Aww, what's the matter?” Joker asked, face leaning in. His breath brushed over Bruce's skin. “Did I touch a nerve?”

 _Touch_ a nerve? He'd hammered the fucking thing almost beyond recognition but Bruce didn't reply. His eyes locked with Joker’s once more and all the fury contained in that green gaze bored into blue. Bruce wondered just how long Joker had been harbouring that anger, that resentment. Wondered how long he'd planned to keep it bottled up. If it wasn't for the recordings, would any of this even been said? Possibly, although probably not like this. Neither of them were renowned for their candour. Bruce certainly hadn't shown any since first making his offer to Joker, when he'd been at a point of absolute desperation. So, had Joker now reached that level, too? It was both a frightening and saddening thought.

The heaviness Bruce had expected threatened to crush him like a dead weight, as he wondered just how much this fuck up was going to cost him. The guilt that had been building steadily started clawing at Bruce's stomach and climbed it's way up his throat with a determination so strong that it forced the words he knew Joker wouldn't want to hear out of his mouth.

“Joker, I'm sor-”

“No!” Joker’s hand jerked up, that accusatory finger pointing again to silence him. His eyes glowered with a warning. “Don't do that." He shook his head. " _Don't_.”

Bruce found that look difficult to hold and released  Joker, before taking several steps backwards. Joker turned his back.

Bruce closed his eyes and rubbed them, before taking a deep breath. When they opened, he saw that Joker had remained where he was, but crossed his arms.

“What _do_ you want me to do?” Bruce asked, trying to keep his voice steady. There had to be _some_ way of fixing this.

Joker didn't reply immediately. The tips of his fingers drummed lightly against his sides, before his torso twisted sideways and he looked at Bruce over his shoulder. “Right now?” he asked and Bruce didn't miss the way his palm pressed against his injured side. “Well, right now I’d love nothing more than to beat the crap out of that perfect little face!”

Bruce remained still and a strong part wondered if he shouldn't let him. They were both clearly itching for a fight. It was safe territory for them, they _knew_ what to do with it. Hell, it might have even got some of the tension out of their systems. But Joker made no move to act on the desire and fixed his gaze on one of the blank computer screens instead.

“But that'd hardly be _conducive_ to our little partnership, now would it?”

For a long time they were both silent and Bruce felt the pressure in his head increasing, like the air had grown a pair of hands and was squeezing his temples.

“Do you want me to leave?” Bruce eventually asked, his voice seeming much louder in the oppressive quiet than the murmur it actually was. He wasn't sure whether he wanted the answer to be yes or no.

Joker's chest slowly rose and fell and his bottom lip disappeared between his teeth. Those blazing green eyes swivelled back to Bruce. “I want…” he said, licking his lip and unfolding his arms. “I wanna play a game.”

Bruce frowned. “A game?”

“Yeah,” Joker replied, hands sliding into his pockets. “Cards or-” he shrugged. “A board game. Chess? You must have a chess set stashed _somewhere_ in that museum of yours. All you richy-rich types like that sort of thing.”

“You want...to play chess?” Bruce had to double check. It wasn't a request he'd been expecting.

Joker nodded, turning to face Bruce fully. “Something to take our minds off things, hmm?”

Bruce didn't think that was possible, but didn't argue. Instead, he turned around and walked to the elevator.

As soon as he was out of Joker’s sight, Bruce tipped his head back and closed his eyes. He took a deep, deep breath and let the air exit his lungs with a long sigh. That was... _Christ_ , it was every bit as awful as Bruce had expected and he knew he wouldn't forget that look in Joker’s eyes any time soon.

But…

It could have been worse. A _lot_ worse. Yes, Bruce felt like shit and they'd come very close, but hadn't actually resorted to fists. That had to be an achievement in itself and Bruce needed to tell himself it was a sign of progress, rather than dwell on the wretchedness trying to seep into his bones.

The hunt for a chess set was left to Alfred, as - despite what Joker said - Bruce really couldn't remember if he actually owned one. It certainly hadn't been seen or used for a good few years if he did. During his wait, Bruce decided to grab some painkillers and a drink for Joker, knowing the effort of the confrontation had aggravated his rib and that the clown would be too damn stubborn to ask himself. He also looked for a deck of playing cards as his chess playing was more than a little rusty and it wouldn't hurt to have a back-up plan.

Joker was sitting in his seat when Bruce returned. The drink and pills were handed over and accepted in silence, before Bruce went to the table and set it upright again. Then he began gathering the plates and cutlery and placed them back on the tray. The food could be cleaned up later.

As Bruce tidied, Joker took it upon himself to set up the chess pieces and it didn't surprise Bruce to see he'd been given the black set.

“It felt safe to assume,” Joker remarked, before resuming his task. There was still an edge there, but it had softened ever so slightly.

Bruce had to remind himself of the rules as he went and it took him a good few rounds to fully settle into the game. Joker didn't go easy on him, either, trouncing him each time with quiet glee. It hardly helped that, despite the focus Bruce tried to put into the game, his mind refused to stop drifting. It was crammed full of thoughts of Joker and their argument and Arkham and Crane and the recordings and-

“Batsy?”

Bruce looked up and, although Joker had addressed him, his eyes were still focused on the board.

“I have a question.”

That immediately set Bruce on edge. He didn't want any more questions, because he didn't seem to have any good answers.

"What's black and white and blue all over?”

Bruce frowned and when no response came, Joker answered anyway. “Penguin’s face when I kick him in the balls.”

It was the very last thing Bruce expected to hear and through the surprise, confusion and, yes, _relief_ , he laughed. Not a snicker or a chuckle, but an actual laugh. Joker soon joined in and a cave that had once been almost unbearably silent was soon echoing with their combined giggles.

“Well, that's better,” Joker declared once they'd both calmed down. “The tension in here was _stifling_!”

Bruce nodded in agreement and when he looked back down at the board, couldn't even remember what move he'd been about to make. The image of a blue-faced Cobblepot was far too vivid in his mind, which signalled that perhaps it was time to call it a day on the chess. He reached into his trouser pocket to pull out the pack of cards and Joker apparently approved, if the tilt of his head and curl of his lips was anything to go by. Bruce opened the pack and slid the cards into his hand, before Joker extended an arm, wiggling his fingers in request. Bruce handed them over.

“I do hope you're better at cards than you are at chess,” Joker said, starting to shuffle them. “As pleasant as your company may be, I like a challenge every now and then.”

Bruce watched as Joker employed the most elaborate method of shuffling he possibly could and was close to mumbling _show off_ , but just about managed to hold his tongue. The sharp one-eighty the atmosphere had taken was startling and the fact that Joker was the one lightening the mood just made it even more bizarre.

“Are you talking about Cobblepot from personal experience?” Bruce asked, deciding to stick with the lighter topic of conversation.

“Hmm?” Joker paused. “Oh!” He chuckled. “I might be.” He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Do you know the dumpy bastard once had the gall to insult my hair? I mean, say what you want about _me_ -” Joker pressed a hand to his chest. “-but the ‘do?” Joker pointed to his head, shaking it and tutting.

Although there was humour in Joker’s tone, Bruce could easily believe the tale. The clown wasn't exactly a modest man and Cobblepot wasn’t his biggest fan.

Joker began dealing the cards and Bruce realised that poker was the game of choice.

“Let's play it straight, shall we?” Joker suggested, before offering Bruce a quick once-over. “Although you're more practiced at that than I am.”

Joker started laughing again and Bruce couldn't help but give a small smile. Perhaps all wasn’t lost, after all. Bruce certainly hoped not. He felt they'd been through more than enough to deserve it.

Silence resumed once again as they played and with some of the heaviness lifted, Bruce was finally able to offer the challenge Joker wanted. The clown still won the majority of the games, but he definitely had to work a lot harder to do so. At one point, when he'd lost three games in a row, Joker looked up at Bruce and lifted an eyebrow.

“Well, well, well, it seems all those years of playboying haven't gone to waste.”

“Not entirely,” Bruce agreed.

They continued playing and, for Bruce, the time passed more quickly in that one morning than it had done in weeks, because when his eyes next happened to glance down at his watch, he saw that it had passed the midday mark.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

Joker looked up from his deck and shrugged. “Not particularly.” He waved a hand to the elevator. “But carry on, by all means. A growing boy’s gotta eat, after all!”

Bruce would've argued that a skinny clown needed to, as well, but didn't think it was the right time to start a new argument. He did, however ensure his lunch was larger than usual, in case Joker changed his mind.

Joker started fiddling with the deck as Bruce ate, continuing that elaborate shuffling, before laying the foundations for a tower of cards.

“So when does the hunt for Fraidy-Pants begin?” He asked, once again displaying that incredible level of focus as he tried to make two cards form an arch.

“It already has,” Bruce replied.

“And?”

“And I can't find him.”

Joker nodded slowly, before chewing his bottom lip in concentration. “Yes, he's certainly a slippery fellow, isn't he? When I left the loony bin, I tried looking for the little weasel myself, but he'd already gone into hiding.” Joker looked up and a hint of malice twinkled in his eyes. “Probably the smartest thing he ever did.”

After what Bruce had seen, there was no probably about it. If Joker had got his hands on the man…

“Then how was the meeting between you two arranged?”

Joker smiled and tapped the side of his nose. “Ah, now _that_ would be telling!”

Oh no, Bruce wasn't playing _this_ game. Finding Crane was too important.

“Joker, you know we need to find him…”

Joker watched Bruce for a moment, before he slowly straightened and folded his arms. His eyes narrowed as he leaned back in his seat and the smile became calculating. “I'm well aware,” he said. “But this is quite the trade secret you're asking for, sweetheart. I can't just give it up willy-nilly. It needs to be _earned_.”

It was Bruce's turn to narrow his eyes. This new-found amiability only went so far, apparently. “How?”

Joker's head slanted and he brought a hand to his chin, finger tapping his bottom lip. “Hmm…” he began. Bruce tried to be patient. “Well, for starters you could put a damn radio down here!”

“Radio?”

“Or a television.” Joker leaned forward again, but was careful not to disturb his half-built tower. “As _charming_ as the chatter of your furry little friends may be, I need a bit more than that to make this oversized coffin bearable. I want something to watch or listen to. Even the traffic reports would be a step up from this morbid silence of which you seem so fond!”

“There's nothing wrong with quiet,” Bruce said, defensively. Personally, he _was_ fond of it.

“For you, perhaps,” Joker said in a way that showed just how much he disagreed. “But some of us need something to keep the cogs turning. In the words of Holmes himself _my mind rebels at stagnation_!”

Bruce was very close to rolling his eyes at the theatrical tone, but didn't actually see a problem with the request. A bored Joker was a dangerous Joker, after all.

“Fine,” he said. “Consider it done, as soon as you tell me how you contacted Crane.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Joker sing-songed, waving a finger. “I said _for starters_. There’s more, Brucey.”

Bruce crossed his arms and tried very hard not to let the irritation flow into his voice. “Such as?”

“New clothes!” Joker declared, grabbing fistfuls of the shirt covering his torso. “As comfortable as yours are, I'm sick of looking like a toddler that's raided his father’s wardrobe. I don't need much, just something that fits.”

Again, it was a request that could easily be met, but Bruce couldn't help wondering what other demands might be in store and was afraid to ask. “Anything else?”

Joker turned contemplative again and, as he would, let the quiet stretch on for a dramatically long time, before answering.

“I'd ask you to do away with these,” He said, lifting his arms and rattling the chains dangling from his wrists.”But even _I’m_ not _that_ delusional.”

Joker laughed but Bruce didn't. He was right, of course. Bruce wasn't even close to reaching that point yet, no matter how uncomfortable with the situation he might be.

“So, I suppose,” Joker continued with a smile. “We’ll just have to leave it at that, won't we, darling?”

“So, you want a radio, a television and new clothes,” Bruce said for clarification.

“Yep!”

“Alright. I can do that.”

Joker smiled and leaned forward again. “Oh and I want to go shopping _with_ you.”

Bruce's heart almost stopped. Shopping...with _Joker_? “You can't be serious.”

Joker rested his face in his hands. “Deadly.” The smile grew wider. “No offence, but your taste in fashion-” he gestured to Bruce with a vertical sweep of the hand. “Leaves a lot to be desired.”

“I am _not_ taking you shopping,” Bruce said. The idea was absolutely ridiculous! Besides, Bruce didn't _do_ shopping. That was Alfred's department.

“Fine,” Joker shrugged, sitting back again. “Then I won't tell you how to find Crane.”

“Joker, this isn't a game!” Bruce said hotly.

“And I'm not playing,” Joker countered serenely. “I'm sick of this cave and I want out, even if it's only for a few hours. I'll be good - I've proven that I can be - and I'll even wear a damn leash if it makes you feel better! But those are the conditions. You want some information. I want some fresh air.”

Joker offered another smile and Bruce replied with a glare. This was one Hell of a trade he was asking for and Bruce's irritation rose. Why did Joker have to make things so difficult? Finding Crane would be to _his_ benefit, too. What was the point in all this messing around? All just to go _shopping_?

He watched as Joker sat still - for once - looking as calm and collected as you like, as if he wasn't a renowned serial killer that had just asked to be allowed a day trip to the high street. It was clear he wasn't going to back down and as stubborn as Bruce wanted to be, he wanted to find Crane more.

Bruce let out a long sigh and tried to ignore the voice telling him that this was a terrible idea. His fingers tightened around his arms.

“Fine,” he said, his voice making it absolutely clear that it _wasn’t_.

Joker’s eyes lit up, but Bruce held up a hand to keep him from getting too excited.

“But,” he continued. If Joker wanted a day out, Bruce had conditions of his own. “This doesn't happen _unless_ we find Crane.”

“Of course,” Joker agreed.

“And you wouldn't be allowed to leave my sight for a second.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, sweetie.”

Bruce's eyes narrowed again as he assessed Joker. Until this moment, it would've been impossible for him to imagine anything making him reluctant to find the deranged former psychiatrist, but he'd clearly underestimated Joker. However, he'd agreed to it now, meaning it was Joker’s turn to deliver.

“So start talking,” Bruce said. “How did you contact Crane?”

Joker went back to his cards and continued building. “I didn't,” he replied.

Bruce was close to hitting something. “ _Joker_ ,” he warned.

“ _Bruce_ ,” Joker retorted in a surprisingly accurate imitation. “I mean it! I had no contact with the Hay-Brain whatsoever. It was all arranged via some… _friends_ of mine.”

“What friends?”

Joker smiled again. “I call them my Little Birds. A busy man such as myself rarely has time to read the newspapers, you know, so I rely on them to keep me abreast of current affairs. And to do my dirty work.”

“Who are they?” Bruce asked, intrigue pushing the irritation aside.

“Just some acquaintances made over the years. People who know how to keep their ears up and their heads down.”

“And how did _they_ contact Crane?”

“Well,” Joker said, pausing for a moment to concentrate on his construction. “This is going to be difficult for a big shot like you to understand, but there are certain factions of society that often get overlooked. They’re able to move unnoticed and, as such, are able to gather the kind of gossip you and I _never_ could. I told them I was looking for the Scarecrow and they put their ears to the ground. When one of them caught whispers of him, they called me and I told them to leave him a message.”

“You told him when and where to meet?”

Joker nodded, confirming Bruce’s initial suspicions. He let the information settle for a moment, before pushing his plate aside and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. Joker threw a mild glare his way, when it almost sent his tower toppling, before his eyes went back to the cards.

“And they’d be able to find Crane again?” Bruce asked. He tried not to sound too eager, but, if this could really work…

“I don’t see why not,” Joker said.

“Then how do we get a hold of them?”

Joker balanced a card between the tips of two arches. Then he finally gave Bruce his full attention, who could tell he was about to hear something he wouldn’t like.

“Now, this, my dear vigilante, is where it gets a little…complicated.”

Bruce fought the urge to purse his lips. “Go on,” he said, mentally preparing himself for whatever was about to come next.

“You see,” Joker began. “I’ve worked very hard over the years training my birdies. It’s taken a lot of trial and error and, yes, a few casualties.” An expression of remorse that Bruce didn’t buy for a second crossed Joker’s features. “But they are now the finest little band of singers I could ever ask for.”

“Meaning?” Bruce pushed, although he had an idea where Joker was going.

“Meaning they perform for me and me alone.”

Bruce let his head dip with a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. “So, to find and speak to these people, you’d have to come with me.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Bruce couldn’t see it, but he just knew that Joker was smiling. Crafty bastard! For the second time that day, Bruce laughed, but the sound was far more exasperated. He straightened, before folding his arms again.

“You know, visiting your “friends” technically counts as a day out, so-”

“Ah, ah!” Joker interrupted, pointing at Bruce. “The shopping trip was already agreed. No backsies!”

“And how do I know that this isn’t just a ploy to _get_ that shopping trip?” Even after all he’d seen, Bruce couldn’t quite let his suspicion of the clown rest completely.

“Y’know, at some point, Brucey, you’re just gonna have to take a little leap of faith.” Joker gave a quick giggle. “Or a hop, in your case.”

A leap of faith. Bruce felt he was going to need one Hell of a run up for that particular jump and his eyes fixed on Joker, wishing – not for the first time – that there was some way to _read_ him, to figure out what was going on in that tangled web of calculated insanity. This would mean letting Joker leave the confines of the cave not once, but _twice_ and Bruce could already feel his pulse start to race at the prospect. There was so much to consider, so many precautions they’d need to take. For a start, there would be the task of disguising themselves. That wasn’t so much of a problem for Bruce - it was amazing what some stubble and tatty clothing could do – but Joker? Green hair and white skin weren’t exactly common or subtle physical characteristics.

Then there was the fact that roaming the streets of Gotham would give the clown every chance of escape. And it wasn’t the fact that Joker _could_ escape that scared him, but the fact the he might _want_ to. Even now, Bruce was still terrified of the prospect of them returning to their old ways, especially as Bruce had been given a glimpse of what they could do if they cooperated.

His thoughts were broken by a soft electronic beep and he looked over at the central computer screen. A message flashed across the middle of it and Bruce left his seat to get a closer look.

**YOU MAY WANT TO WATCH THE NEWS**

Bruce frowned, but didn’t hesitate to switch on the monitor and turn to the first news channel he could find. A young dark-haired woman was stood in the centre of a sunlit street, surrounded by dozens of other reporters all apparently giving their own version of the same story. Behind her was an apartment block ringed with police tape that looked very familiar.

 _“-ormer doctor at Arkham Asylum, she was found dead in her apartment this morning. Although the cause of death has yet to be confirmed, police have said that they_ are _treating this as a murder inquiry.”_

The reporter’s image was replaced with the photograph of a woman Bruce knew _very_ well. Behind him, he felt Joker move closer, although the chains forced him to stop a couple of feet away. Eyes rooted to the screen, Bruce took several steps back to bring them side-by-side.

“Old Ruthie’s kicked the bucket, eh?” Joker said, hands sliding into his pockets as he shook his head. “Shame. I liked her.”

Bruce ignored the remark to focus on the report.

_“Although no suspects have been officially named, sources are coming in that this is believed to be the work of none other than The Batman.”_

Joker gave a theatrical gasp and his head whipped to face Bruce. “Batsy!” he cried. “How could you?”

“Quiet!” Bruce replied, holding a hand up to shush him.

_“He was apparently seen leaving the scene of the crime just after the victim’s estimated time of death and Commissioner Gordon is expected to hold a press conference later this afternoon to give us more information.”_

The reporter continued talking but Bruce had heard enough. The cave went silent, as the screen turned black and his mind went over what he’d just seen. Ruth Adams was dead and Batman was being framed. Excellent. If Marshall hadn’t been baying for his blood before, she certainly would be now.

From the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Joker use the balls of his feet to start rocking back and forth and just knew another remark was incoming.

“So much for not being a Moody McMeanie.”

“I didn’t do it,” Bruce said immediately.

“Oh, you don’t have to convince _me_ , sweetness.”

Joker chuckled and Bruce detected far too much smugness in the clown’s tone. And he knew the exact reason why. Ruth had been an extremely valuable informant and, if she’d been willing, would have made the perfect witness to the crimes being committed at Arkham. Bruce wanted to kick himself. He thought he’d been careful, making sure he’d left no trace of his visit, but clearly he hadn’t. Unless Adams had attempted to double cross _him,_ but paid the ultimate price anyway.

However it had happened, one thing was abundantly clear. He _needed_ to find Crane. No matter how well the man was hiding, it would only be a matter of time before someone found him. Bruce just had to make sure it was by _Batman_.

Joker started whistling and, when Bruce looked over at him, a wide grin spread across the clown’s lips.

Apparently, Joker _was_ going to get that second day trip.

Smug bastard.

[](http://s1074.photobucket.com/user/Melamungous/media/80E821F6-6DDC-4987-A235-90C4B57651F7_zpsrtdl2tpx.jpg.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so aaaaages ago I saw a post pop up on my tumblr where Joker was talking about his "little birds". I forget the title of the comic it was from but I absolutely love the idea! I imagine him like Sherlock bloody Holmes with his homeless network and just had to include it in this :)  
> Anyway, thanks for reading and I really will try to make sure you don't have to wait quite so long for an update next time :D


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Badass Hoodie Husbands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if anyone has any interest at all in what I listen to while writing this stuff [this track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diBS7IEoagU) is definitely one that fits this chapter. God bless Hans Zimmer!  
> Chapter 8 now has artwork, which can also be seen on my art blog [here](https://mellie-art.tumblr.com/post/157506347704/scene-from-chapter-8-of-a-new-game)
> 
> Also, this chap was unbeta'd so if anyone spots any mistakes please lemme know so I can fix 'em :)
> 
> Edit: just letting people know that an [adorable piece of art](https://jokerbi.tumblr.com/post/159250301694/new-game-by-melamungous-is-a-rly-good-fic-so-far) has been done for this chapter by [jokerbi](https://jokerbi.tumblr.com) and I love it to pieces!

[](http://i.imgur.com/qH9mJFO)

Alfred didn't need to speak for Bruce to know what he was thinking, because Bruce was thinking exactly the same thing. This was a _terrible_ idea - the worst - with a million things that could go wrong and at least a ninety percent chance that every single one of them would. What if they were spotted? What if they didn’t find Crane? What if this was all just an elaborate scheme for Joker to escape? What if, what if, what if.

The nerves were enough to leave Bruce on the verge of hurling and that was _before_ he considered the ever so slight chance that the plan would actually work. It was a prospect even more terrifying than it all going wrong and Bruce kept trying his damndest to push it to the very back of his mind. Because if this plan _did_ work, it’d prove that Joker really was trying and then Bruce would have no choice but to consider...trusting him.

Trust _Joker_. However much he wanted to, Bruce still wasn't ready to put those two things together. And didn’t know if he ever would be.

The long-awaited file dump from Lucius Fox could've provided some distraction but it'd arrived too late to be viewed, and even if it’d come at the crack of dawn Bruce wouldn't have been in the right frame of mind to read any of it.

“You're looking suitably unkempt, Master Wayne,” Alfred remarked, giving Bruce a quick once over as he approached.

“Thanks,” Bruce replied dryly. “Let's just hope it works.”

Yeah, Bruce was pretty much crossing _everything_ in that regard as desperation was the only reason he’d even considered Joker’s plan. With Ruth Adams already dead, Crane wouldn't be far behind and the information he had was far too valuable for Bruce to let it slip through his fingers. He just hoped those _little birds_ delivered.

Bruce saw the belt clutched in both of Alfred’s hands and almost gave a smile at the wave of memories that came with it. He hadn’t seen that particular belt for a long time. In fact, Bruce couldn’t have been any more than mid-twenties when he last used it, during the trial and error phase of his “career”. It was a lot smaller than his current one and silver instead of the gold he wore now and it was almost funny that his utility belts had seemed to get bigger over the years as his suits became more streamlined.

“I thought this might be a bit easier to conceal under a jacket than your current one,” Alfred explained, handing the belt over. “I’ve modified it as much as I can to hold some of your newer gadgets, as well as the usual. Smoke pellets, batarangs…you know, everything a middle aged man needs for an nice evening out.”

Bruce ignored the last comment and took the belt. He didn’t remember it being so light, but that was probably because he was always too focused on the weight of his old suits. He felt almost sentimental using it again but didn’t dwell on it for too long.

As Bruce fastened the belt around his waist, Alfred said, “I’d ask you to be careful, but given your choice of companion...”

“The concern’s appreciated, Alfred,” Bruce said, finally managing a small smile. It wasn’t completely forced, but definitely not an easy one, either. His stomach was churning even more now that the dreaded moment had almost arrived.

Nodding to the bundle of clothing on the table beside Alfred, Bruce asked, “For Joker?”

“I tried to find something to make him as… _inconspicuous_ as possible, sir, but you understand that’s no mean feat.”

That actually got a chuckle from Bruce. “Yeah, I know. As long as his hair and face are relatively covered, it’ll do.”

Well, it’d _have_ to. Remembering how Joker infiltrated the charity banquet so well, Bruce briefly considered buying him make up, but the idea was just as quickly dismissed. He and Alfred didn’t have a clue where to begin with that and taking Joker shopping was something Bruce wanted to put off for as long as humanly possible. So baggy, hooded clothing it was. And sunglasses. Wearing them at night was ridiculous but better that than to be recognized. And if anyone could pull off ridiculous, it was Joker.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred called as Bruce walked away.

Bruce stopped and looked back over his shoulder at the old man.

“Be careful.”

Bruce nodded. Chance would be a fine thing.

-

Joker was practically buzzing with energy when Bruce stepped out of the elevator, like an animal that’d been caged for far too long. The description was a bit more literal than Bruce liked.

“My, my, aren’t we looking _rugged_ this evening,” Joker remarked as Bruce approached, those bright eyes travelling every inch of him. “I dare say this might be my favourite look, yet.”

Bruce ignored the wink and dropped the clothes onto the table, before reaching into his pocket for the key to Joker’s shackles. No point putting it off any longer. The clown hummed as each lock clicked open, barely able to keep himself still and when the chains finally fell to the floor, Joker stretched out his arms and gave a twirl. Bruce tried to ignore the surge of anxiety running through his veins.

“Ah, freedom at last!” Joker said. “Well, for tonight at least.” Then he giggled. “This must be how Cinderella felt!” 

His eyes fell to the clothes and nose wrinkled in disgust. “Good grief, what awful monstrosities have you chosen for me this time?”

“I’m all out of purple,” Bruce remarked gruffly and that earned another chuckle.

“Oh, Batsy you’re so much sassier out of costume.” Joker picked up the first garment - which happened to be the khaki green hooded sweatshirt - and snorted a laugh. “Well, credit where credit’s due, darling, nobody’s recognising me in _this_!”

Bruce filtered out any further comments about the clothes, his eyes, as always, focused squarely on Joker now that he was unchained. Halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, Joker looked back up at Bruce.

“Can’t a girl get a little privacy?” Joker cocked his hips and waggled his eyebrows. “Or were you hoping for another little show?”

Bruce rolled his eyes through Joker’s laughter and turned his gaze to the left. The clown was definitely in high spirits and Bruce could only hope that energy would be used in a _good_ way. Only time would tell.

It wasn’t until Joker pulled the hood over his head that Bruce finally let his eyes go back to him and… yeah, Alfred had definitely chosen well.  Dressed in clothes that could be found in any department store, Joker barely resembled the maniacal clown regularly splashed across the front pages. And the shadow cast by the hood meant that, even under the cave’s lighting, it was difficult to pick out his unusual colouring. Bruce was about to say the sunglasses wouldn’t be necessary when Joker plucked them from the table and whipped them on with all the grace of a supermodel.

With a beaming smile, he held out his arms. “Shall we?”

-

“ _Well, I roam from town to town, I go through life without a care! And I'm as happy as a clown, with my two fists of iron and I'm_ going nowhere!”

White fingers waggled in front of Bruce’s face and he jerked his head out of range, throwing a glare Joker’s way.

“Don’t like Dion?” Joker asked.

Bruce felt his fingers tighten against the steering wheel. Again. The radio had definitely been a mistake.  Bruce thought it’d be a good way to keep Joker occupied as they made their way to the Narrows, but, if anything, it just made him even more annoying. Mainly because while Bruce’s heart was thudding wildly against his chest, Joker didn’t seem to have a care in the world. 

“Oh, lighten up Juicy Brucie!” Joker giggled, leaning back in his seat. He knew exactly how annoying he was. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Where to begin? So far nothing had gone wrong but they’d only left the manor half an hour ago. A lot could happen before they returned.

_Focus, Bruce._

Clearly realising that silence was going to be his only answer for the time being, Joker went back to singing and humming along to the music, fingers drumming lightly against his legs as Bruce continued winding through the late evening traffic. Rush hour had come and gone, but there was still a good number of vehicles on the road.

Bruce originally planned for them to head out much later, mainly because less people meant less chance of being seen, but he had to admit it was better this way. With more people around it’d be much easier to disappear into a crowd if the wrong people found them, which Bruce’s pessimistic side was very much preparing for.

When they reached the narrows, traffic really started to thin and by the time they arrived at the address Joker had given, they were near enough the only people around. Parking in the empty lot behind a tower of derelict apartments, Bruce cut off the engine – which thankfully killed the radio, as well - and turned to face Joker.

Joker’s eyes were all wide and glittery from excitement and semi-fresh air and Bruce quickly ducked his gaze to the seat belt clip as he unbuckled it. He'd have to be very careful because all signs pointed to having an overexcited psychopath on his hands and that was never a good thing.

It wasn't until he shut the car door that he realised Joker hadn't moved. 

“What are you doing?” He asked.

Joker raised an eyebrow. “Not even gonna get the door for me?”

“Stop wasting time,” Bruce said, only just managing to keep the growl out of his voice.

Joker let out a dramatic sigh as he started climbing out of the car. “Some gentleman you turned out to be!”

Bruce didn't reply as his eyes scanned the lot, trying and failing to steady his nerves. This was the part he'd been worrying about the most. The alley where Joker’s informants were was only round the corner but that was more than enough opportunity for the clown to bolt if he wanted to.

Joker leaned against the passenger door as Bruce walked over to him, the grin that had never quite disappeared since they left the manor growing wider.

“Did you bring the leash?” he asked. “Or shall we _hold hands_?”

“Move,” was all Bruce said and got rewarded with another sigh and a ridiculous pout.

“Oh, Brucie you can be _such_ a bore sometimes!”

Bruce turned to start walking when Joker stopped him.

“Hold on a minute,” he said, stepping closer.

Bruce tensed as those white hands reached for him.

“Relax,” Joker giggled. “I’m just curious.”

He grabbed the hem of Bruce’s jacket and lifted it a little, exposing Bruce’s waistband and, in turn, the silver belt.

“Thought as much,” Joker remarked, letting go of the jacket. “Expecting trouble?”

“I’m with you, aren’t I?” Bruce replied and Joker’s smile just grew.

They started walking and Bruce made sure Joker was just a step ahead the entire time. He divided his attention between Joker and the people around them, because, although they’d come to the conclusion that the assassins were unaware of Batman’s identity, it was still a possibility that they knew and his eyes scanned the crowds for anyone even remotely suspicious.

In complete contrast to Bruce’s vigilance, Joker walked along with hands in his pockets, whistling a tune and looking for all intents and purposes like any other man out for an evening stroll. It was only through years of experience that Bruce was able to see through the nonchalance, by the line of his back that was straighter than usual and the way his head tilted left and right at regular intervals.

“Here we are,” Joker declared when they came to the mouth of an alleyway and he did a quick hop-skip round the corner.

Bruce followed, frowning as his eyes scanned an area noticeably lacking in people. “There’s nobody here.”

There clearly had been at some point, confirmed by the dirty blankets, mattresses and discarded bottles lying on the ground, but there was no telling how long ago that’d been and Bruce felt every one of his muscles tighten.

“That’s because they’re still working, silly,” Joker chuckled. “No good festering back here when there are so many wallets walking around.”

Joker strolled over to a mattress that was more spring than fabric and carefully sat down, patting the space next to him.

“C’mon, Batsy,” he grinned. “Take a load off.”

Bruce’s eyes kept scanning the alleyway, wondering where the trick – if there was one – might be. Joker watched patiently for a minute before shrugging and leaning back against the wall, humming once again. He was halfway through the second verse of The Wanderer when Bruce finally decided to take him up on his offer.

Joker giggled again and Bruce prepared himself for the next round of inanity.

“We’re like cops on a stake out. We could be Cagney and Lacey!” He glanced at Bruce. “You're Cagney.”

Unable to help himself and with nothing else to say, Bruce asked, “Why?”

“Lacey had better eyebrows.”

Bruce rolled his eyes again but his lips still twitched in the beginning of a smile. Joker let it go unacknowledged and Bruce couldn’t think of anything else to say, either, giving them a few minutes of blessed silence. But it didn't last. It couldn't when it had the Joker to contend with.

“Y'know,” Joker began, shuffling in his seat. “When we have our little shopping trip-”

“ _If_ ,” Bruce cut in.

“ _When_ ,” Joker repeated. “I think I’ll get a couple of these.” He ran his hands down the front of the sweatshirt. “For dress-down days. But in a better colour, of course. For a playboy your wardrobe is ever so drab, my dear.”

Bruce made a non-committal noise before quickly checking his watch. “Do you have any rough idea when they’ll be back?”

“Like I said, it depends on business. Although with the weather-” Joker looked up. “I doubt they'll wanna be out too long. Which reminds me, do you have your wallet?”

Bruce frowned. “Why?”

“Well I can't just turn up empty handed, can I? Months of no contact and then popping up out of the blue, asking for their help? That’s just poor manners, sweetheart. Gotta give them some _incentive_.”

“Incentive?” Wasn't the fact that he was the Joker enough? It was an extremely brave - or stupid - person that refused someone like him. Bruce wasn't always sure which category _he_ fell into. “I thought they worked for you.”

“They do,” Joker said. “And, of course, the terms and conditions of this arrangement have been made _very_ clear - as have the consequences for breaking them - but you catch a lot more flies with honey than you do with vinegar. The fear keeps them in line, but it's the _rewards_ that keep ‘em coming back!”

That made sense and of course Bruce had his wallet – money was always handy whatever the situation – but the fact that Joker just expected him to hand over the cash still rankled, especially as Bruce knew he had no choice if he ever wanted to get to Crane. He’d already got a television, radio and shopping trip. Bruce wondered what else Joker might try to wrangle out of the situation.

Pulling his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, Bruce grabbed a handful of bills and put them into Joker’s open palm.

“Much obliged, poppet.”

Joker stuffed the bills into pocket of the sweatshirt and Bruce was about to ask if he would ever bother to use his proper name when Joker suddenly sprang to his feet and opened his arms out wide.

“Charlie!” he cried.

Bruce wanted to swat Joker across the back of the head and tell him to keep his damn voice down, but the lunatic was already advancing on the unfortunate soul waiting by the entrance to the alley. He was a short man, probably no more than five foot five, wearing an oversized coat that had definitely seen better days and a beard that was so matted it almost looked like one giant dreadlock.

Bruce got to his feet as well, ready to play lookout as Joker took the charm offensive. This was a mode Bruce had seen often enough, although it’d never been used on him - Joker knew better than to bother trying – and it was always uncomfortable to watch a person slip under Joker’s spell, either unaware of the danger they were in or so completely ensnared by the madman that they didn’t even care.

Charlie frowned and cowered away from Joker and Bruce reckoned it was going to be the most sensible thing he did all night. But then recognition must have dawned because his face lit up in that way a person’s did when they were reconciled with a long lost friend.

“J-Jay-Jay?”

Joker whipped off the sunglasses. “In the flesh, my good man!” he declared, before wrapping his arms tightly around Charlie’s neck and planting a loud kiss on his cheek.

Bruce fought the urge to grimace. He could smell Charlie from feet away.

“Where ya been, boss?” Charlie asked as Joker released him. “Haven’t seen ya for weeks.”

“Oh, worried about lil old me?” Joker said, letting one arm hang around Charlie’s shoulders. “That’s why you were always my favourite.” He tapped Charlie’s temple, then chest. “Brains _and_ heart!”

Oh, Charlie was in _deep_ if the look he then gave Joker was any indication and Bruce couldn’t help feeling incredibly sorry for him. He had no idea what was coming when Joker finally tired of him.

“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Joker continued, steering Charlie further into the alley and waving a hand towards Bruce. “This is Brian.” He looked at Bruce. “Say hello, Brian.”

 _Brian_? Bruce struggled to force a smile. “Hello.”

The look Charlie gave him wasn’t remotely friendly but Bruce didn’t really care. He already had enough to worry about and wasn’t here to make friends.

It was more than a little disturbing to see Charlie lean away from him and retreat towards Joker for reassurance, being happily led along like a dog on a lead and completely unfazed by the fact he had _the Joker’s_ arm around his neck. The man surely knew who Joker was – _everyone_ did – and it spoke volumes about just how well the clown could worm his way into someone’s head. Then again, a man in Charlie’s situation was also desperate and any sign of kindness, even from a notorious psychopath, must’ve seemed like a blessing.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Joker nodded to Bruce, still guiding Charlie along as his voice dipped into a stage whisper. “He’s just a little tense. Got a lot on his plate.”

A bit of an understatement, Bruce thought.

“Now, I want to know everything that’s happened these past few weeks while I’ve been away,” Joker said, almost like a parent talking to a child after a day at school. “But first…” Joker’s arm tightened around Charlie’s neck in a gentle squeeze. “You wouldn’t happen to have any of that _wonderful_ moonshine lying around, would you?” 

Charlie’s eyes lit up again. “Oh, sure thing!” and he immediately scuttled off.

Bruce shifted to stand a bit closer to Joker and gave him a look.

“Jay-Jay?” he whispered.

“It’s endearing!”

“It’s ridiculous.”

Joker snorted. “Says _Batman_.”

Bruce’s eyes shot in Charlie’s direction. “Would you keep your voice down?”

“Oh, shush. One whisper of _moonshine_ and you could scream “I am the night” at him until you were blue in the face and he wouldn’t care!”

“We need to be careful,” Bruce reminded him.

“And _you_ need to relax Mr. How-To-Look-Suspicious-101!” Joker placed his hands on his chest and gave Bruce a smile that would've been reassuring on anyone else. “I have everything under control, darling.”

That wasn’t comforting, but before Bruce could say anything Charlie returned carrying a couple of large bottles of…something.

“Fresh batch,” Charlie said proudly, handing one of the bottles to Joker.

“Ah, good lad!” Joker replied, twisting off the lid and giving the contents a sniff. “Hoo-hoo! That’ll put hairs on ya chest!”

He giggled as he sat down on the mattress again, Charlie taking the space previously occupied by “Brian”, which left Bruce to put his back to the wall opposite and lean against it. He watched in silence as Charlie gave Joker a brief low-down on all he’d missed, which included the death of one of his _birds_ and Joker showed the appropriate level of grief, even rubbing Charlie’s back when the man started crying. It made Bruce’s skin prickle.

He briefly wondered where the other members of Joker’s little homeless gang were, but quickly decided that he didn’t want to know. Two people he could easily keep an eye on. Any more and things could get complicated.

“You’ve been through quite the wringer, haven’t you, old friend?” Joker said softly before his voice brightened again. “But never fear, you’re old buddy Jay-Jay is here and he’s brought gifts. Fifty of them, to be exact!”

Joker pulled the cash from his pocket and held it out. Charlie immediately went to grab but Joker snatched the bills away.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he said, his smile just a hint less friendly now. It was time to get down to business and Charlie clearly understood, because Bruce could see the man’s gaze sharpen. “I need some information, first.”

This was it. This was the moment Bruce had been waiting for and he felt himself lean closer to listen.

“You remember that guy I was looking for a few weeks ago?”

Charlie had to think for a minute. “Oh, the doctor?”

“That’d be him!” Joker confirmed. “Well, he’s gone missing again and I need to find him. Know where he is?”

“I know he left that old place he was living in a couple days ago,” Charlie said, unable to stop his eyes darting to the bills in Joker’s hand. “Just packed up and left, he seemed to be in a real hurry. I'm pretty sure he went to one of those fancy new apartments further up town - y'know, the ones the mayor’s been putting up for all her fixed whack jobs. But I dunno for definite.”

Joker’s lips twisted and he lifted an eyebrow.

“But I can find out!” Charlie insisted, eyes going to the cash again, clearly terrified of it going back into Joker’s pocket. “I’ll round up the others and we’ll get hunting.”

“Be sure you do. And I want to know _everything_ , just like before, understand? When he eats, when he sleeps, how often he goes for a shit. Every. Last. Detail.”

“Yes, boss.”

“Good, good,” Joker said, smiling again. He didn’t hand the money over, though. Just kept it in his hand a little out of Charlie’s reach, knowing the man wouldn’t try to grab it.

Again, Bruce was reminded of a dog with its owner, this time being taunted with a stick and he was close to snatching the cash out of Joker’s hand and just giving it to Charlie himself. But, eventually, Joker slowly handed the money over and Charlie immediately stuffed it into the inside pocket of his coat. The man wouldn’t starve tonight, at least. And that fact only made Bruce feel more uncomfortable. To think, a man like the Joker had probably done more for Charlie through his own selfish means than any charitable organization genuinely having Charlie’s best interests at heart ever could.

“Well, I’d love to stay,” Joker said, climbing to his feet. “But you know me - always busy, busy, busy!”

Charlie stood, too and nodded.

“And you know how to get hold of me.”

Charlie nodded again and Joker took his face between his hands, squeezing his cheeks. “And be sure to get a good meal inside you tonight, you hear? Can’t have my little buddies starving on me.”

The warning behind the words was clear and Joker patted Charlie’s cheek before turning to Bruce. “Come along, Brian! The night is young and there’s a gay bar round the corner with our names on it!”

Joker’s cackles bounced off the walls and Bruce was tempted to clamp his hand over the damn clown’s mouth. What part of keeping a low profile could he not understand? At this rate, Bruce might as well have let him wear one of his old suits and make up!

With a final wave from Joker, they returned to the street. Joker was about to start walking the way they’d come, but Bruce grabbed his arm and steered him in the opposite direction.

They were being watched.

Or, at least, they were being paid very close attention by someone on the opposite side of the street. And as a man who’d spent an entire career stalking others, Bruce could tell when the same was being done to him. They were very good, whoever they were and it’d taken Bruce a second to figure it out, but when they’d looked in his direction and their body language shifted from bored to alert in the blink of an eye, he’d known.

Bruce’s hand went to the small of Joker’s back and gently nudged him to move faster.

“I take it we’ve got company,” Joker murmured, although his smile didn’t falter in the slightest. If anything, that spark of excitement that’d been in his eyes the entire evening seemed to get brighter.

“Yes,” Bruce replied, brain already flying through dozens of scenarios and possible escape routes. If they could get back to the car…

Suddenly Joker was facing him, walking backwards.

“What are you doing?” Bruce demanded. This wasn’t the time to play.

“Talking to you, of course,” Joker said. “But I always find it a much more pleasant task when I can actually _see_ your lovely face! And we’ve gained two more.”

Shit. Bruce was sure he could take on and just about win against two or three (yes, he had Joker with him but the man was more a liability than a help most of the time), but these people were trained and if any more arrived Bruce would need to find a way out as soon as possible.

“I reckon we could take ‘em, you know,” Joker said, moving back to Bruce’s side. “I mean, we did at the Iceberg Lounge and there were _loads_ more then.”

“Because you shot at them.”

“Oh yes!” Joker laughed. “You should really rethink that whole “no guns” policy of yours. Make your job a lot easier, honey.”

“We just need to get to the car,” Bruce said, still trying to figure out the easiest way to do it without being caught.

But it soon became clear that that wasn’t going to happen. These people were hired for a reason and it didn’t matter how many sudden twists or turns Bruce and Joker’s path took, their tails were always right behind them. It seemed they really were going to have to run or fight. And if it did come down to a fight, at least Bruce had his belt. It wouldn’t be the same as being fully equipped with the Batsuit, but it was a lot better than nothing.

He looked at Joker. “How’s the rib?”

Joker replied with a grin.

Bruce kept them moving, waiting for the right moment and when he said _go_ , Joker was more than ready.

They started running full pelt and even with a damaged rib Joker was hard to keep up with. Bruce sometimes forgot just how quick Joker could be and it wasn’t long before he was forced to follow the madman’s lead. Luckily, Joker knew the streets of Gotham just as well as Bruce, if not better, and Bruce just had to hope the clown would lead them to safety not trouble.

Because this was going to be the real test. Joker had kept his word up until now but a situation like this was the perfect opportunity to escape. And if that happened…

Bruce lost himself in the sudden flash of panic and missed the word Joker shouted to him. It wasn’t until being yanked by the arm into another alley that Bruce realised he’d been shouting _left_.

“Save the daydreaming for later, Bats!” Joker said, before pointing to a fire escape ladder. “Can you reach that?”

It took a run up but Bruce managed and with Joker again leading they started climbing just as the assassins entered the alley.

“Keep going!” Bruce shouted up to Joker as he reached for his belt.

He considered using smoke pellets but realised this’d call for something much more heavy duty. Taking out one of the small explosives, he pushed the timer, stuck it to a rung of the ladder and carried on climbing. He had three seconds to get as far away from it as possible.

Joker had already smashed and climbed through a window and as Bruce reached out to grab the windowsill the bomb went off. Glass shattered and the walls of the building shuddered as the ladder was destroyed and Bruce felt his fingers slip. Just as he was about to fall, two hands came out and grabbed his arm and collar and Bruce’s free arm immediately went up to grip a shoulder.

“Y’know…” Joker said, voice strained as he heaved Bruce into the room. “I feel…this would be much…easier…the other way around.”

Bruce didn’t reply because he was too busy trying not to fall to his death and he finally clambered inside, landing on top of Joker.

“Buy a guy a drink first?” Joker laughed, before Bruce pushed himself back onto his feet.

He went to the window to see the aftermath of the explosion and the three assassins were all on the floor. Only two were moving. Turning away, Bruce saw Joker now on his feet as well, his hand pressed to his side.

“Are you alright?” he asked as Joker tried to hide a wince.

“Peachy,” Joker replied. “But let's not waste time asking pointless questions.”

Bruce nodded and thought about the safest way to get out of the building without being caught. The front entrance was his first thought and he looked out the window again to see one assassin trying to stand as the other went to the person still lying on the ground. If they were quick…

“Come on,” Bruce said, leading the way.

“Oui, mon capitaine!”

Yeah, Joker was fine.

Leaving the building, Bruce decided back streets and alleys were the best way to avoid running into anyone else. They moved as quickly as they could without actually running, because that'd be a sure fire way of getting attention again and with the way Joker’s hand kept going to his side, Bruce wasn't sure he'd manage a second sprint. 

Not that Joker was letting the pain slow him down. He was a stubborn bastard and had got himself out of situations a Hell of a lot worse than this with injuries far more severe, but still. Bruce wanted both of them to save their energy for when they really needed it.

Which was the second they reached the parking lot. They'd come in from the back, where a wall hid their approach and Bruce peered round to see five people circling the car. He knew exactly who they were and wracked his brain trying to figure out how the Hell the assassins found them. Maybe they _did_ know who Batman was after all. Ice ran down his spine.

“Guess the car’s a no-go,” Joker whispered, also spotting the slashed tyres.

Bruce was about to reply when someone called out. 

“Come out. We know you're there.”

Fuck. 

“And all we want is the clown. Give him to us and you can leave.”

Oh. So maybe they _didn't_ know who he was. A small blessing, he supposed, but then how were they found? And how did the assassins know which car was theirs? 

Those questions would have to wait for answers because Bruce needed to focus and the assassins were getting impatient. 

“Time is ticking. Hand him over or we kill you and take him anyway.”

“Friendly bunch,” Joker giggled. Even this couldn't wipe the smile off his face and Bruce wasn't sure he'd want to be around the day something finally did. “What's the plan?”

Good question. They needed to get out of here, but how? They could run again but that'd only work for so long. Fighting them was again also an option, but they were outnumbered and there was no way Bruce’d risk either of them getting caught or killed. 

He started mentally checking through everything in his belt when Joker spoke again.

“I have an idea,” he said. “But you're not gonna like it.”

Bruce looked at him and could tell just _how much_ he wasn't going to like it by the shimmer in those green eyes.

“Go on,” Bruce eventually said.

Joker outlined his plan and the lines on Bruce’s face got deeper with every word.

“You're right,” he said. “I _don't_ like it.”

“Got anything better?” Joker challenged and Bruce really, really wished he did.

Because Joker’s plan involved splitting up and that asked Bruce to place a ridiculous level of trust in him. Which Bruce wasn't sure he could do. _Ever_. A Joker out of sight was a Joker free to do whatever he liked and there'd be nothing to stop him escaping then. And Bruce was still terrified that Joker would want to. 

There had to be another way. There _had_ to be.

“Bruce.”

Joker using his proper name without any teasing or ridiculous inflection was enough to cut through and grab his attention.

“If you're ever gonna take that leap of faith…”

But it wasn't a leap, it was a free fall.

Bruce studied Joker again and there wasn't any blame in those eyes, because only an absolute idiot trusted Joker without question, but _something_ was there, something Bruce couldn't quite figure out, so he quickly gave up and looked back at the assassins. No, they didn't need to do it, they'd find another way, he just needed to _think_. Maybe they could-

Bruce didn’t finish the thought because he was suddenly shunted forward and almost landed on the ground. He heard the sound of rapid footsteps fade behind him and it didn't take a second to realise what'd happened.

Joker had bolted.

Before he could even react, three of the assassins were on him as the other two chased Joker. Bruce was pulled up by his collar and he retaliated with a headbutt. It was just enough to force assassin number one to release him as number two landed a kick to his back. It knocked Bruce to his knees but, although the assassins were quick, he had weight and strength on his side and used it.

Grabbing the next leg that come his way, he twisted it and pushed Two to the ground before leaping to his feet again, dodging a fist to slam his elbow into Three’s stomach. One and Two came at him at the same time and an arm went around his neck as another leg swung for his ribs. Bruce tried to dodge, but when Three joined in again, Bruce knew he was really in trouble.

Realising they weren’t going up against a regular citizen, the assassins didn’t hold back as they threw blow after blow at any part of Bruce they could reach. He struggled against Two’s hold, but it was hard to manoeuvre and block fists at the same time.

When Three came forward yet again, Bruce threw his legs up and used the assassin’s chest to lever himself backwards, sending the other two assassins to the ground with him. It was just enough to get himself free and start running.

He heard one of the assassins follow him and Bruce sped up, refusing to be caught again. He couldn’t afford to be. Joker was now missing and after this fist fight the assassins were going to put two and two together, which meant he had to warn Alfred and get the old man the Hell out of Wayne Manor.

When he came to the street he didn’t even think about direction, he just kept running and almost collided with the bonnet of a car. The driver beeped the horn but Bruce ignored it until a voice – a _very_ familiar voice – shouted his name.

_Joker?!_

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Joker demanded, his head sticking out the window as he waved Bruce towards him. “Get your ass in here!”

Bruce ran to the passenger side and Joker sped off before he could even get the door shut.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you were doing?” Bruce demanded, almost snarling. He couldn’t even begin to understand or describe what he was feeling and was forced to fall back on the one emotion that’d always been easiest to process – anger.

“Well that’s gratitude for you!” Joker replied. “I come to the rescue and you hurl abuse at me!”

“You ran off!”

“ _You_ were dithering,” Joker countered. “Someone had to do something otherwise we’d have both had our asses handed to us.”

“I thought-” Bruce cut himself off, realizing what he’d almost said.

“You thought what…that I’d left you?” Joker said. “Aw, honeycakes, you’re so cute when you’re projecting your abandonment issues onto me!”

He flashed Bruce a grin and a chorus of car horns blared when they almost collided with oncoming traffic.

“Keep your goddamn eyes on the road!” Bruce demanded, his hand going to the steering wheel to put them back on the right path.

Joker giggled. “Darling, anyone would think you didn’t approve of my driving.”

“You’re a _terrible_ driver,” Bruce replied, checking the mirrors for pursuers. He knew his assassins had been left far behind, but had no clue about Joker’s.

“Good enough to outrun you,” Joker argued. “Eleven times, in fact!”

“And you almost got us killed every single time.” Bruce said, sparing a second to throw a look Joker’s way. “And it was _seven_.”

Joker cackled and, once again, almost swerved into the opposite lane. Another growl from Bruce and Joker swore to actually start focusing as they continued to speed along the road. Bruce wondered if this car trip would end up doing the assassins’ job for them.

Luckily, traffic had died down considerably since entering the Narrows, meaning they didn’t have to worry about too many more collisions or traffic jams, but it wasn’t until they left the Narrows and passed central Gotham that Bruce began to think that maybe – _just maybe_ – they might be in the clear.

He didn’t relax, though, because there was every chance that more traps were waiting for them and his head was still reeling from everything that’d just happened. He didn’t dare let himself try to process any of it yet, because it was all still too big to figure out, but it didn’t stop three words circling endlessly in his head.

 _Joker came back_.

The car had to be abandoned a few miles from Wayne Manor and Joker took immense pleasure in doing whatever he could to the vehicle to avoid any accusations of grand theft auto arriving at Bruce’s door. They walked the rest of the way and Bruce noticed Joker hold a hand against his side for most of the journey. He even developed a slight limp towards the end and Bruce knew he’d have to find some very strong pain killers when they reached the cave.

“Honey, I’m home!” Joker cried, arms up in the air as his voice bounced off the cave walls.

The flapping of small wings and a few disgruntled chirps were the only reply he was given.

Joker went straight to the nearest chair and carefully lowered himself into it before giving it a spin. Bruce, however, headed straight for the bathroom. He needed a minute to…well, he just needed a minute.

Placing a hand on either side of the sink Bruce closed his eyes and took in several deep, deep breaths. His heart was going a mile a minute, every part of his body ached and his shirt was lined with sweat but…they’d made it. They’d fucking _made it_! It’d been close but they’d survived and, as far as Bruce could tell, the plan had been a success! Well, they still had to wait for word from Charlie and co, but at least he now knew that Joker hadn’t been lying.

Joker.

As soon as he thought that name Bruce felt a kick in his gut. He’d been so scared and – privately - so sure that Joker would try something, find a way to slip through his fingers and Bruce hadn’t prepared himself for the possibility that Joker might not want to. And if the stunt with the car wasn’t big enough to swallow, there was also the fact that Joker had saved his life. _Again_. That little detail had been temporarily forgotten with everything that happened afterwards, but now he was able to actually acknowledge and absorb it and…

Bruce ran the tap and removed his jacket and sweatshirt as he waited for the water to get as cold as he could possibly stand, before splashing it over his face and running it through his hair. He was beginning to experience a massive comedown from the adrenaline and anxiety that’d been running through him since last night and he felt his hands start to tremble. He needed to eat and drink and check on Joker and then speak to Alfred and read the files and…

“Oh, Bruuuuucieeee,”

Bruce closed his eyes again and took a final deep breath. He needed to calm down, that’s what he _really_ needed to do. With a final splash of water, Bruce emerged.

“Oh, _there_ you are!” Joker said. “Was beginning to wonder if you’d fallen down the plughole.”

Joker chuckled as Bruce walked over to the elevator.

“Off already?” Joker asked.

“You need painkillers and we both need food,” Bruce said. “I won’t be long.”

He also needed just a little longer alone but kept that to himself.

Joker held his arms out and shook his wrists. “Aren’tcha gonna truss me up, first?”

Bruce looked at those wrists and then the chains lying on the floor beside the bed. It’d be safer…

But Bruce didn’t have the energy to deal with the restraints and everything that came with them. The chains could wait. Just for now.

“Just behave,” Bruce said and carried on walking.

As always, Alfred was waiting and Bruce gave him a very brief rundown of what’d happened. He knew Alfred wanted to know more, but the old man also knew this was one of those times he’d have to be patient. Once again Bruce was left counting his blessings for having a man like Alfred Pennyworth in his life.

“I’ve gotta say I haven’t had that much fun in a _long_ time,” Joker declared as Bruce returned.

Bruce didn’t say anything and handed a beaker of water and several pills to him, before going to the other seat by the desk and dropping into it. He placed the plate of food on the desktop before rubbing his eyes. Fun wasn’t the word _he’d_ use.

Bruce felt a nudge and looked over at Joker, whose foot now rested in the space between the seat and the armrest, almost touching his thigh.

“You won’t admit it,” Joker continued. “But I know you had fun, too.”

No, Bruce really didn’t, but it was definitely an experience to be working _with_ joker instead of against him. It was something that’d crossed his mind so many times in the past, but for it to actually be happening…he couldn’t deny the thrill it gave him, even if it was buried under a mountain of angst.

“Maybe,” was all Bruce could bring himself to say.

Joker wheeled himself forward and rested his elbows on Bruce’s armrest, hands propping up his chin. “Oh, you play hard-boiled,” he said with a smile. “But I know if I crack that shell of yours-” he rapped his knuckles lightly against Bruce’s temple. “-I’ll get to the gooey middle!”

Joker waggled his eyebrows and his eyes were still glowing with excitement, his lips curved in a small smile. Joker had needed this outing even more than Bruce realised. He wasn’t a man that coped well with confinement and when Bruce considered the fact that he was soon going to have to chain him up again, the guilt that usually came with it doubled.

Because now – well, maybe not _right now_ but at some point very soon - Bruce was going to have to actually come to terms with the idea of trusting him. Because he’d _come back._ He could’ve been halfway to anywhere else right now, basking in newfound freedom. But he wasn’t. He was right here at Bruce’s side, willing to wear those damn chains again and, still looking into those eyes, Bruce started to wonder why. Why was Joker doing this? Could a gun to the chest really have had _that_ much effect?

Fingers tickled Bruce’s side, making him jerk in his seat and Joker laughed as he pushed himself away.

“You were getting all broody again,” Joker said, spinning in circles.

“Take your damn pills and eat something,” Bruce ordered and found himself laughing.

Joker wheeled over to the desk and grabbed one of the sandwiches, but instead of tearing it apart as he usually did, he wolfed the whole thing down in a few big bites.

“I’ll say one thing, Bats,” he said through a mouthful of bread and ham. “All this hero malarkey certainly builds up an appetite!”

Bruce smiled, glad to see Joker actually eat like a normal human being and nodded. He could definitely attest to that.

“So what’s next?” Joker asked. “It’s gonna be a day at least until my birdies get back to me.”

Bruce considered. “Well, next…” he began, chewing the inside of his cheek. “I need to look through those files from Wayne Enterprises. See if they were worth the trouble of breaking into Arkham.”

“I should bloody well hope so!” Joker cried. “I put a great deal of effort into that masterpiece.”

And Bruce was grateful for the blueprints, as well as everything else Joker had done so far. Which was actually a lot when Bruce thought about it. And what had he been given in return? Painkillers and a makeshift bed on the floor of a cold damp cave. Saying thank you seemed a bit…inadequate in return and that was when an idea struck. It wasn’t going to be much but it’d go some way to show an appreciation for Joker’s efforts so far. And it _could_ lead the way to something much bigger.

“Penny for those batty thoughts, darling.”

Bruce looked at Joker and then the chains, before his eyes went back to Joker.

He’d need to have a long talk with Alfred in the morning.

[](http://i.imgur.com/q8gN1Wi)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's J's bday, so allow me to offer y'all this update to celebrate. Wooooo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been an extremely lucky girly this month as the lovely Jokerbi has done [ another adorable piece of art for chapter 9](https://jokerbi.tumblr.com/post/159260140699/melamungous-im-not-sorry) as well as [this](https://jokerbi.tumblr.com/post/159318705859/more-new-game-art-o-new-game-by-melamungous) for chapter 7 and [this](https://jokerbi.tumblr.com/post/159506348684/new-game-he-hates-needles-me-too) for chap 3! This person is far too good and precious and I love 'em for it!
> 
> And there is also [this lovely piece](https://whimsicalprinceofcrime.tumblr.com/post/159558666894/some-fanart-for-a-new-game-its-such-a-good) by whimsicalprinceofcrime from chapter 7. 
> 
> Thanks so much both of you, seriously! I really appreciate it :D
> 
> As well as that fabulous art, I've also added some art to chapter 9 which can also be seen [here.](https://mellie-art.tumblr.com/post/159678429544/here-they-are-its-brian-and-jay-jay-from-chapter)
> 
> And if anyone's wondering what J was waltzing to, its [this](https://youtu.be/ZHkjLFAz9gY).
> 
> (As always this ain't beta' so sorry for any mistakes :D)
> 
> Now I think that's everything so on with the chapter!

Imagining Wayne Manor without Alfred was a bit like trying to picture France without the Eiffel Tower. It just didn’t seem right. And no matter how many times Bruce reminded himself of the reasons for sending the old man away, he still felt that kick of fear right in the centre of his gut. Giving up one of the very few constants he had in his life was terrifying and that was  _ before _ he even considered the idea of being left alone with Joker, no sanity left to offset the madness.

But Bruce wasn’t a stranger to scary things and no matter how much he didn't want to do it, he’d be damned if he let his fears put someone he loved in harm’s way. He’d deal with it the way he always did, by  _ getting the Hell on with it _ and, holding a printout of flight times in one hand and a shopping bag in the other, Bruce entered the kitchen.

“Good afternoon, Master Wayne,” Alfred said, halfway through making lunch. He pushed a cup of strong coffee Bruce’s way. “I assume you’ll be needing that.”

Bruce took the cup silently and the corner of his mouth twitched as it dawned on him that he’d also have to start making his own meals. It was ridiculous how childish his inner voice sounded just then.

Plating up the food, Alfred’s eye caught the sheet of paper Bruce placed on the countertop but it was ignored as his attention went to the bag beside it.

“You managed to get it, then?” he said, nodding to Bruce’s recent purchase.

Bruce's lips twisted as his eyes followed Alfred’s. “Eventually,” he grumbled, taking a long sip of his drink.

“I suppose purple isn't exactly this season’s colour, is it?” Alfred remarked.

No it most definitely wasn’t. Although Bruce knew finding a bright purple coat in the men's section of any store was going to be a challenge, he hadn't expected it to be quite so difficult and almost gave up completely before finally -  _ finally _ – finding a very exclusive and  _ very _ expensive boutique that had just what he was looking for.

He just hoped Joker liked it.

“But you never know, Master Wayne,” Alfred continued, placing cutlery on the tray now holding two plates of food. “If you somehow manage to prove you  _ are  _ capable of making decent fashion choices, he may not feel the need to accompany you on that shopping trip, after all.”

Bruce glared at Alfred. “Don’t even,”

Alfred smirked but Bruce didn’t see the funny side. That shopping trip was becoming the bane of his fucking existence, it really was. He should’ve said no, or just gone down to the cave right then and told Joker it simply wasn’t happening. He was tempted,  _ very _ tempted but it only took a second’s imagination of the fallout for him to remember why he didn't. He couldn’t go back on his word, not now.

Obviously sensing how much the topic of conversation was winding Bruce up, Alfred swiftly changed subject. “I take it these are the flights I’m to choose from?” he said, picking up the sheet of paper and skimming the contents.

They'd already discussed the arrangements that morning over breakfast as Bruce relayed last night’s events.

Alfred had  tried to argue yet again, but the very serious threat of being fired was finally enough to convince him that it wasn't up for debate. Not this time.

“All of them leave sometime tomorrow,” Bruce said. “With the last few the day after. I’d like you to get the earliest one you can, though.”

Alfred’s eyes fixed on Bruce and he pursed his lips. “And I really can’t change your mind, can I?”

“We’re being watched, Alfred,” Bruce said, reiterating what he’d said last night. “They know Joker is here. They're going to come for him and I don't want you here when they do.”

“And what about you?” Alfred asked. “I can’t say I’m happy about leaving you here alone with that madman.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce said, although, to be honest, he was as anxious about that too.

Alfred looked down at the paper again. “I’ll be getting first class seats, I trust?”

Bruce managed a smile. “Yes and I’ll even escort you to the airport if you like”

Alfred shook his head. “That won’t be necessary, sir. Even without the threat of assassins, I wouldn’t want him left alone in here.”

Bruce couldn’t argue with that but he didn’t like the idea of Alfred travelling by himself. What was to stop the assassins going after  _ him _ ?

“I’ve left the manor many times this week and returned safe and sound,” Alfred reminded Bruce. “There’s no reason for this time to be any different.”

For a minute Bruce wished he had a twin, a clone, or just some way to split himself in two so he could watch Joker  _ and  _ make sure Alfred got on the plane safely. But that unfortunately wasn’t an option and he was going to have to choose.

And the old man  _ did _ have a point. He’d managed to come and go as he always did without any trouble whatsoever. Hopefully, whoever was watching the manor would be too focused on Bruce and Joker to worry about the movements of an old butler.

Bruce took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said. “But you’ll call as soon as you get to the airport. And as soon as you land.”

“Of course,” Alfred agreed and he folded the sheet of paper and tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket. “I’ll book the flight as soon as you go down,” he said, nodding in the direction of the cave. “Although I might wait and watch you give the Joker his gift, first. I’m rather intrigued as to what his reaction will be.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and, almost on instinct, turned to look at the laptop. He frowned. “What’s he doing?”

Alfred leaned forward. “It would appear he is doing the waltz, sir.”

Out of sheer curiosity, Bruce walked over to the laptop and switched on the sound. An orchestra came blaring through the speakers and Bruce quickly turned the volume back down.

“Jesus,” He muttered. It was a wonder they couldn’t hear the music all the way up here. At least he knew the cave’s soundproofing was still working.

“Ah, Sibelius,” Alfred remarked. “Can’t fault his taste in music, at least.”

Bruce didn’t know who that was but he did know that he needed to get downstairs before the clown lost his hearing completely. And the first thing he’d do was set a lock on the volume control.

-

Bruce looked forward to the day when Joker was no longer confined to the cave. The thought of him roaming the mansion freely was frightening, but at least Bruce wouldn't have to watch him shower anymore. Or try  _ not _ to. Because even though he always kept his eyes fixed resolutely ahead, Joker still somehow managed to get his attention, either by talking, humming or making sudden noises that'd force Bruce to turn in his direction.

Bruce knew why he did it. It was all part of a power play Joker never could resist, his way of getting under Bruce's skin. And it worked, of course, just as it always had and probably always would. Every time his eyes hit that unnaturally white body, Bruce would feel the heat in his face and the infuriating chuckles that always followed meant it never went unnoticed.

And the high Joker was apparently still riding from last night’s excitement made him even worse than usual. He was  _ dancing _ in the shower this time and the only thing that kept Bruce from telling him to stop was the fact that he knew it’d encourage him.

When he finally stepped out of the shower, Joker did his usual leisurely stroll over to the table and when his lower half was  _ finally  _ hidden by a towel, Bruce took a look at his rib. The bruise was still large, dark and angry but there were patches of green mingling with the purple, which meant it  _ was  _ healing. Bruce was worried that last night might have done more damage, but apart from some added stiffness to some of his movements, Joker didn’t seem any more bothered by it.

Joker picked up the clothing and saw the bag underneath.

“What’s this?” he asked, giving Bruce a sharl look. “You didn’t go shopping without me, did you?”

“Just open it,” Bruce said, trying very hard to hide his awkwardness. He never was any good at giving gifts, especially when they were ones he’d picked out himself. And considering that this was a gift for  _ Joker _ …well, that just made it even worse.

Joker’s eyes narrowed and he dropped the clothes to pick up the bag. The purple coat was pulled out and Joker was quiet as he held it up to for a thorough examination. Bruce tried not to hold his breath.

The cave was silent for a lot longer than Bruce liked until Joker let out a soft laugh.

“Oh,  _ Brucie _ ,” he said, hugging the coat to his chest. “You shouldn’t have!”

“You asked me to,” Bruce reminded him.

Joker chuckled again, a ridiculously wide grin on his face. “Well, yes, but I didn’t think you’d actually  _ do _ it.” He held the coat up again and his thumbs started rubbing the material. “And it’s good quality, too!”

Then, without warning, the towel dropped to the floor and Bruce saw a whole lot more of Joker than he expected, before the clown slipped the coat on and wrapped it around himself. He flipped up the collar and brushed it against his cheek.

“ _ Very _ good quality. This must’ve cost you a pretty penny.”

Bruce didn’t have time to confirm or deny, because Joker’s head was moving from side to side and he started making circles.

“I need a mirror,” he declared. “Tell me you have one down here.”

Bruce shook his head and Joker’s eyes widened in a horror that Bruce suspected might actually be genuine.

“ _ What _ ? How can you not have a mirror?” Joker gave Bruce a quick once-over. “Never mind.” He held his arms out, fingers wiggling as he inspected the sleeves. “But I need to see how it looks, darling. There’s gotta be  _ something  _ reflective in this glorified toy store of yours.”

Bruce was about to tell him no when an idea came to mind and he walked over to the computer. It wasn’t a mirror but it’d work just as well and Bruce reckoned Joker might even prefer it. He switched the monitors on to the cave’s surveillance feed and they were confronted with half a dozen images of themselves, each one at a different angle. Joker let out a happy squeal and rushed forward as Bruce took a few steps back.

“Oh, the fit is simply  _ divine _ !”  Joker said, running his hands down his hips before turning to the side. “You  _ must _ introduce me to your tailor.”

Bruce was tempted to say he hadn't actually gone to one but kept quiet. Joker probably wouldn't have heard him anyway. He was too busy posing and twirling for the cameras, twisting in ways that shouldn't have been possible for a man with a fractured rib.

But at least he was happy with the coat. Bruce tried not to feel too relieved about that. Or pleased.

Joker stopped twirling and brushed his wet hair out of his face before turning back to Bruce.

“But I don't remember giving you my measurements, sweetums,” he said and his eyes narrowed again as the grin shrank to a smirk. “Someone's been peeking in the shower!”

Bruce ignored the sing-song voice and the wagging finger and absolutely  _ didn't _ think about the shower Joker had just taken or the fact that he was completely naked under the coat. Instead, he went back to the computer and switched off the surveillance feed, deciding Joker had ogled himself enough for one day.

“Hey!” Joker whined. “I wasn’t finished!”

“The coat fits, it looks fine and we have work to do,” Bruce said.

Joker gasped and cupped a hand around his ear. “Was that a  _ compliment _ I just heard, sweetie?”

“Get  _ dressed _ .”

Joker sucked in his bottom lip and looked over at the clothing waiting patiently on the table, before shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”

Bruce frowned. “What?”

“This is the first decent item of clothing I’ve worn in over a week,” Joker said. “I refuse to let it be sullied by whatever rags-” he waved a disgusted hand at the clothes “-you’ve chosen for me this time.”

“Joker,” Bruce warned.

“Oh, don’t be such a prude, Brucie. I’ll keep it buttoned up if that’s what you’re worried about.” He winked and Bruce rolled his eyes. “Besides, it’s not like you’ve got to chain me back up immediately, is it? You promised me a few hours of freedom and now’s as good a time to enjoy them as any .”

Yeah. In a moment of madness, weakness, gratitude or whatever the Hell anyone wanted to call it, Bruce had decided to let Joker spend some time in the cave unchained. It was a way of testing the waters, to see just how well things went if Joker was offered a little bit of freedom and Bruce wouldn’t deny it was nice not hearing the clink of metal every time Joker moved. Because at some point the chains really would have to go and, with Alfred about to leave, as well as Joker’s actions last night, Bruce didn’t see a reason why that couldn’t happen sooner rather than later. He just hoped this offer of trust didn’t backfire.

“Fine,” Bruce said. If the clown got cold it was his own fault.

He took his usual seat opposite Joker, indicating that it was time to eat. Joker followed and Bruce started to dig into his lunch but had to stop when he noticed Joker watching him. He raised an eyebrow.

“Do you always eat like a starved animal?” Joker asked, arms crossed and an almost genuinely inquisitive expression on his face. “I mean, you’ve never been a poor man, it’s not like you’ve gotta make the most of every meal you get.”

“At least I  _ eat  _ my food,” Bruce said and it earned him a smile.

“Touché, darling, touché.”

Joker picked up his fork and started to push his food around the plate. “So I take it we’re finally gonna get a look at those juicy files today?”

Bruce nodded and tried not to think too hard about Joker’s use of  _ we _ .

From the moment he’d got the files, Bruce had forced himself to be patient, but now that he was finally able to get a look at them he could feel the anticipation pulsing through his body. He couldn’t wait to see what information they actually held, what pieces of the puzzle they’d be able to slot together and he was crossing everything that they didn’t prove to be completely worthless. Bruce was pretty certain they wouldn’t – files didn’t get encrypted for no reason - but still.

“And what are you going to do with the information once you’ve got it?”

Now that was a good question and one Bruce’d been thinking about from the moment the files were extracted from Arkham’s computers. At first he’d thought of simply handing whatever intel he got over to the GCPD, but Marshall had taken that choice away from him. And Bruce Wayne couldn’t do much either because there was no feasible explanation he or Alfred could think of for why the billionaire would have them in his possession. And then there was the very real possibility that if he handed the files over to Gordon, it'd put him in the line of fire and Bruce wanted to keep the only cop he actually trusted right where he was.

It hadn’t been until that morning that Alfred came up with a pretty decent alternative. Going to the authorities wasn’t an option, so what was the next best thing?

“I’m going to give it to Vicky Vale.”

Joker frowned and his eyes shifted to the ceiling as if trying to remember the face that belonged to the name. “Vale…Vale…” his eyes lit up and he smiled. “Oh yes, the reporter!” The smile quickly fell, replaced with concern that wasn’t the least bit authentic. “But aren’t you worried about putting a poor little civilian in the line of fire? They did kill the doctor, after all.”

It was a concern, yes, but he didn't really have much choice. “By the time they realise she’s leaked the information, it’ll be all over the front page of every newspaper in Gotham. Hard to brush  _ that _ under the carpet.”

Joker’s smile returned, both  mischievous and - if Bruce wasn’t mistaken - impressed. “Very sneaky, Brucie. I like it.”

“Then hurry up and eat so we can get on with it.”

Joker tutted. “This obsession with food isn’t healthy, y’know. Careful or you’ll go Elvis’s way.”

Bruce ignored the remark and continued eating. It didn’t take him long to finish his food - or  _ inhale  _ it as Joker said - and he didn’t bother waiting for Joker to finish. They’d be there all day otherwise. 

Instead, Bruce went over to the desk and fired up the computer again. Lucius had sent the files over electronically to save Bruce making another trip to the office, meaning they were there on the desktop ready and waiting.

When Bruce opened the first file he was confronted with a long list of names, dates and numbers. He heard Joker approach and take the seat beside him.

“Well, looky what we have here,” Joker said with a whistle. He scooted his chair as close to Bruce as possible and rested his elbows on the arm of Bruce's seat. “Financial records, eh? But if I’m not mistaken, most of those names  _ aren’t _ on Arkham’s payroll.”

“So whose payroll  _ are  _ they on?”

Bruce’s shoulder brushed against Joker’s as he leaned forward and scrolled down the list. Looking at the dates, this file was the most recent and it went back roughly three months, with the same group of names appearing regularly. Bruce opened the other files and they were the same, with a few extra names added into the mix.

After a quick scan through all the files, looking at the names and spotting the patterns, Bruce grabbed a pen and paper and went back to the first file. Now that he knew which puzzle pieces they’d been given, it was time to slot them together.

In all, the files went back almost three years and Joker went through them with Bruce, pointing out which names he did or didn’t know.

“That guy,” Joker said, pointing to the name Bruce was currently jotting down. “Was the one escorting ‘Crow to all his lab rats…I  _ think _ .” Joker’s eyes narrowed. “No, yeah, it was him.”

He went straight to the top of the list of people Bruce was going to visit right after Crane.

“And this one?” Bruce said, pointing to the second name.

Joker thought for a minute, before shaking his head. “Nope, sorry. Don’t know her.”

And they carried on like that, combing through the names on every file and for those neither recognized, Bruce decided it might be time to give Joker a more active role. Another sign of trust.

Joker let out a ridiculously overdramatic gasp. “You mean…you want me to… _ touch _ the batcomputer?”

“Batcomputer?”

“Is that not it’s name? I mean, you’re Batman and you’ve got the batsuit and the batmobile and the batcave and I’m pretty sure you’re wearing batpanties right now-”

_ Batpanties _ …what the Hell?

“It’s a computer, Joker,” Bruce said patiently, fighting against the smile that was trying to break out on his face. He refused to laugh. He  _ refused _ . “Just…a computer. Like the suit is just a suit and the car is just a car and  _ this _ -” his finger did a quick circle of their surroundings. “-is just a cave.”

“That happens to have bats in it.”

_ Smartass. _

“If you say so,” Joker shrugged, leaning forward to reach the keyboard. “But I think you're missing out on one Hell of an opportunity. Just think of the money you could make from the merchandise!”

Since Joker would apparently have been happy to drape himself over Bruce’s lap to type, Bruce was the one forced to shift his seat to give him more room. The clown really was pushing it today but Bruce let it slide. Joker was in a good mood and cooperating and that wasn’t an opportunity Bruce was about to pass up.

As Bruce read out names and Joker reeled off whatever information the computer provided, Bruce soon found himself thinking more and more about how strange this was, the pair of them working together this way, working  _ well  _ together, the way he’d wished they could for so long. The way he’d never dared  _ believe _ they could.

And without the adrenaline and fear and stress of last night, he was able to actually admit that it felt…good. This -  _ this -  _ was what Bruce wanted. Joker using that frighteningly brilliant mind to  _ help _ not hurt. And even if he wasn't motivated by altruism – Bruce wasn’t far enough gone to  _ ever  _ imagine Joker capable of that – it was enough of a change to finally relieve some of that bone-tiredness that’d weighed Bruce down for far too long.

“Ooh!” Joker cooed, breaking Bruce’s train of thought.

Bruce looked to where he pointed and read the name.

_ Marshall. C. _

It wasn’t any surprise to see the Mayor’s name on the list, but it was good to get some concrete evidence and it’d be just the thing to snatch Vale’s interest.

Joker leaned back in his chair. “Say what you like about me, but  _ I  _ never voted for the woman.”

“You’re not  _ allowed _ to vote.”

“Well, if I  _ was  _ I still wouldn’t have!”

Unfortunately Bruce  _ had _ . He’d done what he thought was thorough research but apparently it wasn’t anywhere near thorough enough. Luckily, he was in a position to correct his mistake.

Bruce looked through the files. “Her name first comes up almost two years ago,” he said and rested his chin in his hand as the cogs of his brain started turning. “That would have been around the time she began her election campaign.”

“And now we know how it was funded.” Joker tutted. “And people have the cheek to call  _ me  _ a villain!”

“But who paid her?” Bruce asked, thinking out loud. “Where did all this money come from?”

He checked through the notes he’d taken and went to the names being paid the most. “Search for a C. Nisson.”

Joker did and a long list came up. “Gonna need to be more specific, darling.”

Well there was no point including Arkham in the search, because Bruce was pretty sure that whoever these people were, they’d keep something like that well away from public knowledge. And then he remembered what Ruth Adams had told him.

“Add pharmaceuticals.”

That narrowed things down a  _ lot _ .

“Carl Nisson,” Joker read out. “CEO of Nisson Pharmaceuticals.”

Without prompting, Joker typed the company name into the search and his eyes started flying left to right as he skimmed through the information, reading out only what he felt was necessary.

“Nisson Pharmaceuticals. Founded by David Nisson in 1985. Specialised in mental health. Almost went bust six years ago.” Joker paused, let out a  _ hmm  _ and then gave Bruce a smile. “But the company was apparently rescued by none other than its current CEO.”

“I bet it was,” Bruce remarked, his voice just as cynical. And he was willing to bet it wasn’t through legal means, either.

“Y'know I don't remember hearing anything about a Carl,” Joker mused, eyes still scanning the information. “But I do remember the name Nisson being bandied around a few times.” He looked over at Bruce's list. “Any others on there?”

“Uh...there's a P. Nisson.”

That obviously rang a bell because Joker sat up straighter and started clicking his fingers to jog his memory.

“P...P...P…” he typed it into the search. “Peter! Yes, I remember him!”

“He visited the asylum?” Bruce asked. 

“Yeah,” Joker confirmed. “Kind of like an inspection, I think. Although that was obviously just a front. The doctors were all in a flap about it and a couple of them had some  _ very _ unflattering opinions about the guy. Can't say I was too fond of him, either.”

“You met him?”

“Well...not properly,” Joker admitted. “I was bored and went for a walk. Took them a good few hours to find me.”

That Joker - easily their most dangerous patient - had been able to do that so easily was another painful reminder of how lax the doctors at Arkham were. Normally that'd anger and alarm Bruce, but this time it worked in his favour. 

And that just reminded him of how badly all this could’ve gone  _ without _ Joker’s help. Another scary thought.

They continued going through the names, putting them in the search and listing whatever info they got and over the course of the day the picture became a whole lot clearer.

“So Nisson Pharmaceuticals pays for Marshall’s election,” Bruce said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Putting her in place to take over Arkham, which then gives  _ them _ free reign to test on the patients.”

“And they hire a bunch of nasties to get the  _ busybodies _ -” Joker waved a finger between them. “-out of the way.”

Yeah, Arkham may constantly underestimate Joker, but the people hiring the assassins most definitely hadn’t.

“The only questions left,” Bruce continued. “Are why did they enlist Crane’s help and what was he making for them in that “lab”?”

Joker giggled. “But they won't go unanswered for much longer, eh, Batsy?”

Bruce looked at Joker and could see the excitement shining in his eyes. “You're enjoying this far too much.”

“Likewise, pet.”

Bruce didn't bother denying it to himself or Joker but whether they were enjoying it for the same reasons he couldn't be sure.

“You said it'd be a day at least before Charlie got back to you about Crane?”

“Yep,” Joker said, emphasising the  _ P  _ with a loud pop.

Bruce looked at the clock in the bottom corner of the screen. It was still early evening, probably far too soon  to expect any response from Joker’s birds, but now that he had a whole list of new leads to follow there was no way he was spending the night at home.

A finger tapped his temple, followed by a quiet giggle.

“Whatcha thinkin’ Batbrain?”

“First of all,” Bruce began. “I'm going to see if there's any word on Crane.”

“And if there isn't?”

“Then I'm thinking...if Nisson Pharmaceuticals are so desperate to get the Batman, it's time he paid them a little visit.”

Joker looked at Bruce and gave him the sort of smile he rarely gave anyone, one that Bruce never knew quite what to do with. And - yes - caught up in the exhilaration of the moment, Bruce smiled back. They were getting close to solving this case, he could feel it. And when that was done, maybe…

“In that case, guv’nor,” Joker said. “You'd best slap those chains back on before you go about your business.”

The reluctance that hit Bruce when the chains were mentioned was wrong, he knew. Only an idiot would have left him unrestrained. But after how well today had gone - apart from Joker’s usual silliness earlier - he didn't really want to be reminded of the fact that the clown was, in reality, a prisoner here. Even if the chains were more for Alfred’s benefit than anyone else.

_ Soon,  _ Bruce told himself.  _ Soon _ .

Bruce switched the computer back to the screen that let Joker pick whatever music or television he wanted to watch. Joker went to the table where the clean clothes were still waiting and started undoing the coat. Bruce had almost forgotten he wasn't wearing anything underneath until a flash of white made him look away. 

“Ready and waiting, darling,” Joker called as soon as he was dressed.

When Bruce turned around and saw Joker back in the dark baggy clothing, he actually found himself missing the coat. It'd been a strange sort of nice to see Joker looking a bit more like his old self.

But that thought was quickly shunted to the very back of Bruce's brain as he walked over to where the chains were lying on the floor and picked them up. Joker followed and held his wrists out obediently.

“Y'know,” Joker said quietly as the first cuff snapped shut. “We’re making a pretty good team, you and me.”

Bruce nodded. They were. Surprisingly so. Bruce’d never been a fan of surprises and it was nice to get a good one for a change.

“Guess there's hope for us, yet, Bruce.”

The tone of Joker’s voice made Bruce's eyes snap up to meet his. The way he said those words, along with the look on his face and the fact that he'd used his  _ proper  _ name…

And the word  _ hope _ . Did that mean..?

They were silent, just looking at each other and Bruce was too afraid to ask and Joker didn't seem to be in any mood to help him along, so the moment was allowed to pass and Bruce went over to the desk where his notes were waiting.

“I'll be back later,” he said as he walked to the elevator.

-

When Joker first told Bruce the drop off point for messages from his  _ little birds _ , Bruce had let out what was probably one of his biggest sighs.  _ Of course _ he'd used the reception of Wayne Enterprises. Why not?

“Yeah,” Joker had said with a smug grin on his face. “They left their notes in some of that lovely foliage decorating the foyer and I collected them.”

When he returned to the office the first thing Bruce planned to do was have a word with security.

“Besides,” Joker had continued. “I had flowers and chocolates to deliver anyway, so why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“ _ You  _ delivered them?” Bruce had asked, his jaw falling open. No wonder he'd got those looks from Michelle.

“Of course I did!” Joker said, like it was the most logical thing in the world. Probably was to him. “We were going to  _ elope _ , sweetheart. The least I could do as your future husband was deliver them myself.”

So Joker  _ had _ read that delightful little article in the paper and Bruce had given the floor a longing look. A hole would've come in handy right then.

So Wayne Enterprises was Bruce's destination. He tried to tell himself it was too early to hear anything, that he shouldn't feel frustrated or disappointed if nothing was there, but it didn't stop the spike of adrenaline running through him. If he  _ could _ get to Crane…

Bruce hadn't bothered shaving yet and he wore his scruffiest clothing to try and blend in with the crowd yet again. Knowing that the manor was under surveillance, he was even more vigilant than usual but didn't see anyone following him. Hopefully things stayed that way.

Apparently any notes from Charlie would be hidden in the soil of the fake sansevieria closest to the entrance. Bruce didn't tell Joker that he'd had to look that species of plant up so he knew what the Hell it looked like. 

It was late so there weren't any people besides security guards around and they gave Bruce funny looks as he searched the plant.

But it seemed luck was with Bruce today. After a quick search his hand brushed over something suspiciously paper-like and he pulled out the small folded note and left before the guards could escort him out of the building. 

Leaving Wayne Tower and checking that he still wasn't being followed, Bruce headed for the nearest alleyway and opened the note. On it was an address and a single word underneath.

Crane.

_ Gotcha. _

[](http://i.imgur.com/VWvakWy)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first of all, apologies for the delay. I've been busy rewriting and redrawing this story (as well as others) and it's proven to be a long-winded and painful process (so sooooo painful. Seriously, braincells were lost during it). None of the plot has changed, but the writing and some dialogue's been redone and is - hopefully - much better now. The first four chapters are done and posted, I've just got four chapters left to do so it might mean another delay for the next update as well but we'll see how it goes.
> 
> Once again jokerbi did [a cute lil thang](https://jokerbi.tumblr.com/post/160043725014/hi-i-drew-more-of-new-game-by-melamungous-it) for this story and I'm giving Maleficmistress a little shout out for inspiring me to write a certain little scene. They know which one I'm talking about.

“Give him a kiss from me!”

Those were Joker’s last words as Bruce left the cave and he wasn't talking about a peck on the cheek. A fist to the face was more like it. And Bruce wanted to. _Really_ wanted to. Wanted to slam Crane’s head against a wall hard enough to hear it crack, wanted the sick bastard to feel some of the pain he'd inflicted not just on Joker, but _all_ the inmates of Arkham. It was no less than he deserved and it'd be so _easy_...

Which was why Bruce’d spent the last twenty minutes on the roof calming himself down. He couldn't do that, not here, not now, no matter how much he wanted to. This wasn't about him, it was about _information_ and too important to fuck up on a whim of self-gratification. He took several deep, deep breaths and focused.

Crane's apartment was on the eighth floor and Bruce didn't know how Charlie and co had managed to figure it out, but he did know he was going to look into hiring a few “little birds” of his own. They'd achieved in a day what Bruce hadn't managed in over a week, and he tried not to think too hard about the fact that Batman - with all his money and gadgets and training - had been made to look incompetent by a group of people that didn't even own a bed.

Using the grapple, he abseiled down the side of the building to the window that, if he'd gotten it right, would lead into Crane’s kitchen. He tested the lock which was open and, for a second, wanted to roll his eyes at Crane for being so lax with his security. But considering the people he was hiding from, a locked window wasn’t going to do much anyway.

Bruce landed with a soft thud and quickly scanned his surroundings before moving further in. The apartment was small and basic, a far cry from the luxury apartments that Crane was supposed to be living in. The kitchen and lounge were conjoined to make one big room and there was barely anything in the way of furnishings. An old armchair in front of a small television and a few pots and pans on the stove were about it. And the entire place _stank_ of mould. It was pretty clear that Crane didn't intend to live here long.

Ahead were two closed doors and, again, if Bruce'd gotten it right, it was the door on the left that led to the bedroom. He closed his fingers around the handle and slowly turned it and could hear his pulse thudding in his ears. Almost there. Almost _there_!

And _there_ he was. Crane. Lying fast asleep in the bed. Or, at least, Bruce _thought_ he was. As soon as he got close enough to pull away the sheets, Crane sprang, flipping onto his back and swinging his arm round to let out a cloud of smoke. Bruce ducked and held his breath as he lunged forward to hit Crane in the stomach, doubling him over, before grabbing his arm and dragging him out of the bedroom.

Crane’s back slammed hard against the wall and Bruce spotted the cuff around his left wrist. It'd been the source of the smoke and, before Crane could let out any more, Bruce closed his fingers around it, squeezing tight enough to grind the bones together. Crane hissed and grimaced with the pain and Bruce only just managed to stop himself breaking them.

Bringing both their arms up, he pressed into Crane’s throat to hold him in place, angling the cuff’s nozzle so it pointed directly at his face. Bruce's thumb rested lightly on the little button, ready to push if Crane refused to cooperate.

Crane’s eyes - that watery sort of grey-blue - glared at Bruce and, for a long moment, Bruce didn't say anything, just let his eyes drill holes right back into them. Images from the tapes that he'd been trying so hard _not_ to think about came flooding back and the last, of Joker howling in agony and rage, refused to go. The sting of guilt that followed the memory only made the image sharper and, knowing that it was going to send things spiralling in a very bad direction, Bruce forced it away. _Focus_.

“Wh-what...do you...want?” Crane asked, voice hoarse as he tried to make room between the gauntlet and his throat.

That was a dangerous question which, if answered honestly, Crane would wish he hadn't asked. But Bruce stuck to his guns. _Information._

“I want to know two things,” he said. “One: why you were hired. And two: the location of the lab you worked in.”

Crane's eyes narrowed. “Clown’s got a...big mouth.”

Bruce leaned in closer. “It wasn't Joker who told me.”

Crane frowned and Bruce couldn't help feeling a bit smug. Clearly, he wasn't expecting _that_.

“That's right,” he continued. “I’ve seen _exactly_ what you've been up to, so it's time to start talking.”

Bruce saw Crane’s eyes widen as he realised the implications of that last comment, but the panic quickly vanished. Crane wasn't going to give in just yet. He was always more difficult to deal with than most, similar to Joker in a way Bruce didn't like, usually more intrigued by Batman than afraid. _Usually_ . Unlike Joker, there were still ways to frighten Crane.

“And why...should I?” Crane said. “You'll kill me...if I don't?”

If only he knew-

No. Bruce pushed _that_ right the way away. _Come on, focus_!

Keeping hold of his wrist and grabbing a fistful of collar, Bruce yanked Crane away from the wall and dragged him over to the half open kitchen window. If he was less careful avoiding obstacles than he should've been, Bruce didn't bother to think too hard about it.

Opening the window all the way, Bruce pushed Crane’s head and shoulders out, letting them dangle high above the streets for a long minute, before explaining how things were going to go.

“The drop from this window to the ground is about a hundred feet. I push, you die.”

The panic was back. Good. Crane may relish the effects of fear, but he still had enough sense of self-preservation to know what was good for him.

“But-”

“No,” Bruce cut in, already knowing what Crane was about to say. “I won't kill you, but I can still make sure this fall breaks every single bone in your body. And when you're in hospital, the people I know you're hiding from will find you and they _will_ kill you.”

To punctuate his point, Bruce pushed Crane further out and felt fingers dig into his gloves. Bruce pushed a little more.

“Stop!” Crane demanded, trying his hardest to fight against Bruce, desperate for the safety of the window ledge.

“What's the matter, Crane?” Bruce asked, getting more enjoyment out of this than he knew he should. “Scared?”

Crane almost snarled and after a few seconds finally gave in. “Alright!” he snapped. “Let me in and I'll tell you whatever you want to know.”

Bruce let the request hang in the air, before slowly pulling Crane back towards him. But only by a few inches.

Crane's eyes went wide again. “What-”

“This is as far as you go for now.”

“But I said-”

“I don't _care_ what you said,” Bruce growled, letting just a little of that fire burning through his veins into his voice. “It’ll make things easier if you talk, but you’re not indispensable.”

They glared at each other in silence, Crane’s arrogant streak clearly deciding whether it was worth the broken body just to piss him off. It frightened Bruce to admit just how much he almost hoped Crane would and another image came, this time of Joker doubled over with laughter when Bruce describes to him the position Crane landed in, and just how loud his screams were when he fell.

_Focus!_

Probably to the benefit of everyone involved, Crane decided _not_ to piss him off.

“I was hired to make fear toxins,” he said in a tone that suggested a renowned detective should've already figured _that_ one out.

Bruce pushed him back out. Crane dialled down the sass after that.

“They-they didn't tell me _why_ at first,” he continued, clutching Bruce's hands again. “Just that they were interested in my work. Said they wanted to develop it. I didn't ask questions. They offered me free reign of the asylum and my pick of the patients to test on.”

Joker. Bruce's grip tightened.

“They-they'd check through the results of my experiments and, a few weeks in, told me they wanted something new. Something with very specific properties.”

“What kind?”

“Slow acting. Untraceable.”

“Why?”

Crane shook his head. “They didn't tell me.”

Bruce studied Crane’s face and could see he was holding back. “But you do know.”

“Of course I know!” Crane said, as if insulted Bruce would suggest otherwise. “You think I'd offer my work to people without knowing what they were going to do with it?”

“Then out with it.”

“You're not going to like it.”

Bruce was about to push again.

“Nisson Pharmaceuticals!” Crane said hastily. “You know them? Well, they're putting the toxin on the market.”

Bruce paused. They...what? He surely hadn't heard that right.

“Yeah. And I'm not talking the black market or the drugs trade,” Crane continued. “I mean one hundred percent legitimately onto the high street.”

 _Impossible_ Bruce wanted to say immediately, because the idea was...well, it was _crazy_! Fear toxin was unstable and unpredictable, at best driving people irreversibly insane and, at worst, _killing_ them. Everyone knew this, so who in their right mind would even consider putting it up for sale?

“There's no way anyone would let that happen,” he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew that someone _would_. In a place like Gotham, with the right sum of money placed in the right pair of hands, anything was possible.

“They already have.”

A tired, cynical part of Bruce that'd seen far too much over the years had known Crane was going to say that. And it made him want to scream. The rest of him went cold.

“How?” he asked, trying hard to keep his voice steady, despite wanting to hit Crane all over again.

“This isn't the same toxin you know. Like I said, it's slow acting. And they're not selling it as it's own product, it's mixed in with other things, other pills people take on a regular basis.”

“You mean-”

“Headaches, migraines, menstrual cramps, anxiety, depression, colds, flu- if there's a pill for it, it'll be in there. Small doses, building up over time, the toxin getting stronger and stronger until it finally takes hold.”

Bruce almost shivered in horror, remembering his own experiences with the toxin as well as Joker’s most recent one. And despite the tremor in his voice, Crane was explaining it all in that horribly clinical way, which only made it worse.

“Why the hell would they want to do that?” Bruce demanded, grip getting even tighter as he tried to stay in control. It was starting to become unbearable.

“Money,” Crane said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because it _was_. “When people get sick, they're going to need a cure and that is when Nisson steps in.”

“People are going to know they're responsible. It won't work.” But even as he said it, Bruce knew he lacked conviction.

“Untraceable. Slow acting.” Crane said it slowly, like a parent to a child. “Small doses in almost every kind of medication you can buy. How is anyone going to suspect? We’re not talking about a sudden epidemic, here, just a gradual rise of what they assume to be psychosis. People aren't going to be flocking to the madhouse. Just a few people at a time, those more reliant on medication succumbing to it first. And then, when people start making the right kind of noise, wondering what the hell they're going to do about it-”

“Nisson gives them the cure.”

“Exactly! They swoop in, save the day and make an absolute fortune. Because they are the _only ones_ who have the formula for the antidote.”

 _And,_ Bruce thought as all the other puzzle pieces he had slotted into place, _they're the ones with the authorities on their payroll._

Bruce felt sick. This was...God, this was so much worse than he'd been expecting. So slow and quiet and, in actual fact, a hell of a lot more dangerous than any of the ridiculous, grandiose schemes he'd dealt with in the past. Because nobody would realise what was going on until it was far too late. And it was already too late, _Bruce_ was too late, because it was happening _now_ , good, innocent people slowly being infected right this second. Entire lives, families, communities destroyed for no other reason than to make a few people filthy rich.

Bruce looked down at the street below. It was empty right now but in a few hours’ time there would be people crowding it, blissfully unaware of the poison running through them, unaware that they were going to end their days as nothing more than a paranoid, terrified shell of what they'd once been. Or worse.

Bruce's skin was starting to itch and he had to work so hard to fight the urge to simply drop Crane that he almost felt light headed.

He pulled Crane closer until he could feel his breath on his exposed skin.

“You'll tell me where they're manufacturing it or I _swear to God_ I will drop you.”

And there must've been something in his face because Crane’s eyes went wide again and he nodded.

But just as he opened his mouth, the words were cut off by shouts from below. Bruce looked down to see a couple of cops looking back up at them and, when he listened, could hear approaching sirens and what sounded like helicopters. Shit. How the hell-

He glared at Crane who immediately shook his head. “I didn't call them!” And Bruce was pretty sure he was telling the truth.

So who did? Jesus fucking Christ how did this _keep happening_? He'd been even more careful than before, determined to make sure what happened to Ruth wasn't repeated and even though the mansion was being watched, he knew for a fact that the underground entrance to the cave was clean because he'd spent the past week checking it daily. The only explanation he could come up with was that Nisson already knew about Crane’s little hiding spot and had been waiting for Batman to arrive. Stupid, stupid, _stupid_!

Having given himself a second to panic, Bruce immediately started working on an escape route. It wouldn't be hard, he'd outrun more than his fair share of cops over the years, but it wasn't going to be so easy this time. He had Crane and there was no way he'd let _anyone_ get hold of him until he got the information he needed.

He pulled Crane back into the room and was about to demand the location of where the drugs were being made, but glass shattered in the bedroom and Bruce only had enough time to turn his head before-

-

The pain hit first, jarring Bruce's entire body as he slammed into the building opposite, shoulder screaming as his arm went out instinctively to brace himself. He tried to grab one of the fire escape railings but his fingers skimmed the metal and he kept falling down down down, colliding with more metal and brick until he finally crashed to the ground.

The world was spinning but Bruce didn't get a chance to recover because blinding light was on him in an instant and he lifted his arm to shield his eyes.

“I've got him!”

That was enough to cut through the haze and Bruce climbed clumsily to his feet, coughing and ignoring the fire that erupted in his right side, narrowly avoiding the bullets that ricocheted off the building as he rounded the corner.

The spotlight was still on him as he ran and he knew he needed to get out of view of the helicopters if he was going to stand any chance of escape. Rooftops were out of the question, they'd only make him more visible, and with the way he was stumbling and tripping over his own feet right now, Bruce wasn't sure how well he'd outrun the men on the ground. He could already hear them catching up.

What he needed was to get to the car. If he made it _that_ far...

More bullets fired and one managed to graze his shoulder plate and the near miss was enough to push away the last of the disorientation that the explosion - _explosion! They'd thrown a fucking_ bomb _into the apartment!_ \- had caused. His steps got steadier and faster, but he still wasn't any closer to figuring out an escape route.

Bruce’d deliberately parked the car a good distance away to avoid drawing attention to himself - a fat lot of fucking good that'd been - and he still had a way to go before he reached it. And the shouts and sirens and helicopters were still following, lights still trained on him, making it hard to think as his ears rang and his head throbbed and his mouth and lungs were full of smoke. And his side and shoulder were still screaming in pain, begging him to stop and he wanted to so _badly_ but it was the last thing he could do right now.

He'd have to bring the car to him and hope to God he avoided capture in the meantime. But this meant finding somewhere to wait and that wasn't going to be easy. He needed to find a way to lose the helicopters but the only way Bruce could see it happening was to enter one building and, from there, move to the next without being spotted. Easier said than done but no other plans sprang to mind, so he aimed the grapple for the nearest tall building and fired.

He crashed through the window and found himself on the floor of an open plan office, but didn't bother taking in any more of the surroundings as he climbed to his feet and moved to the opposite row of windows. The next building was lower and easy to reach but how to do it without being seen?

Well, there was one way. Unclipping his cape, he tied it to the end of the grapple’s hook and aimed. Whether they'd fall for it he wasn't sure, but it'd provide a distraction at least. Hopefully enough for him to get away.

They did. As soon as the glass shattered and they spotted the cape, they converged, giving Bruce enough time to go back to the window he'd come in through and wait for the helicopter to move, before using his spare grapple to glide to the roof of a third building.

Through the fire escape he made his way down the stairs as fast as he could to one of the lower floors, looking through each window he passed to see what was happening. Cars were circling the other two buildings but it seemed the cops still hadn't realised Bruce's deception. He would’ve sighed in relief if breathing didn't seem so hard.

And deciding there was no better place to sit and wait, he carefully lowered himself onto the steps, his side protesting all the way, and called the car. As he waited for it to arrive, he gave his side a quick once over and found the source of the pain. A jagged shard of metal had found a spot between the armoured plates to impale him just below the ribs on the right side. And it fucking _hurt_. Even the slightest twitch of muscle was agony and Bruce knew he was going to need a hefty dose of antibiotics and painkillers for this one.

Bracing himself as much as he could, Bruce grabbed the shard and with a one, two, three yanked it out. His curse echoed up and down the stairwell as the pain seared his side and blood spilled onto his gloves. Pressing his hand tightly against the wound, he switched on the commlink in the cowl and called Alfred.

“Sir, what's happened? The news-”

“I'll explain later,” Bruce said, fighting to get the words out through the coughs. “But I’ll need-” he stopped and winced against the pain that seemed to have doubled now he'd stopped moving. “-your help when I get back.”

These injuries weren't ones he could fix by himself and he was pretty sure he'd find a whole lot more when the armour was removed. And he couldn't exactly ask Joker to help, chained up as he was. And _definitely_ couldn't unchain him when he wouldn't be in a position to fight him off if Joker decided to take advantage of the situation.

Which meant Bruce would have to finally let Alfred down into the cave. With Joker. It made Bruce's head hurt even more.

He explained it all as quickly as possible, making it absolutely clear that Alfred wasn't allowed down there until Bruce arrived and was eternally grateful when the old man didn't argue. Bruce wasn't in the mood.

A light on Bruce's gauntlet flashed, signalling the car’s arrival, and he heaved himself back onto his feet, hissing all the way.

Getting out of the building wasn't easy, as the cops had already realised their mistake and were renewing their search of the area, but there was enough of a window for Bruce to run from the building’s exit over to the vehicle and climb inside without being seen. Now he just needed to get back to the cave.

He set the car to autopilot, keeping to back streets and alleys because the main roads were going to be swarming with cops. There were a couple of close moments, but the car’s cloaking device just about managed to keep him hidden. Bruce'd never been more grateful for that little piece of technology.

By the time the cave entrance loomed, Bruce was ready to cry with relief. The night had been a complete fuck up and he was pretty sure Batman would now have two high-profile deaths on his hands. He doubted Crane survived the explosion and, even if he did, Nisson wasn't going to let him live much longer. He knew far too much and, God, Bruce’d been _so close_! Crane had almost given him a location and Bruce would've been able to stop this thing before it claimed the lives of anyone else.

As soon as he was able to think without feeling like his head was splitting in two, Bruce would start looking.

A sleepy giggle was the response he got when he fell out of the car.

“Must've been one hell of a party!” Joker said with a yawn as he climbed out of the bed and moved closer. The chains meant he couldn't get far, though. “Shame I wasn't invited.”

Bruce ignored him and focused on getting to his feet.

“Good grief, what did Crow do to you?” Joker asked, and Bruce’s head was too muggy to figure out if there was actual concern in his voice or if he was just imagining it.

“Wasn't...Crane,” Bruce said, clutching his side as he walked. Or shuffled.

“Good. Would've been disappointed in you otherwise.”

Bruce ignored that comment too as he fiddled with the clips holding the cowl in place, but his hands were shaking so he wasn't having much luck.

“You look like you could use some help.”

Bruce was about to say he'd manage but a coughing fit interrupted him and Joker let out a long sigh. When the coughing subsided, Bruce looked up to see Joker was stood in a blanket, arms crossed, hair all over the place and one of his bare feet tapping the floor.

“Were you about to say _you're fine_? Because I have to say you don't look it. Your hands are shaking worse than a junkie going cold turkey!” Joker held his arms out, hands beckoning him closer. “Just scoot over this way a bit so I can help.”

The offer was a lot more tempting than Bruce wanted to admit, but he didn't move, just kept looking, considering. And coughing. Joker sighed even louder this time.

“ _Darling_ , I'm not gonna hurt you. Where’d be the challenge? You can barely walk for crying out loud!”

Bruce took one more second to consider and then gave in. Joker _was_ chained up, which didn't make him harmless, but it did mean that, even if he knocked Bruce out, he wasn’t going anywhere. And, frankly, Bruce felt like shit and could really do with a hand.

Joker helped him down into one of the chairs by the table and his fingers went straight to his neck, looking for the clips.

“Might need some help, dear.”

Bruce guided Joker's hands and the clips snapped open with a soft click. He couldn't describe how good it felt to have the cool cave air finally hit his face and when Joker pushed his hair back in a way that was far more gentle than Bruce’d ever expected, he let his head tip back and even closed his eyes.

And then a pair of hands covered the top half of his face and his lashes brushed against Joker’s palms as he tried to open his eyes.

“What...what are you doing?” he asked, although he didn't try to move the hands away. They were lukewarm and felt kind of nice against his skin.

Joker took a while to answer. “I just...you think I woulda seen it before. Y'know...you. Batman. One and the same.”

His hands slowly slid down to carefully take hold of Bruce's face and when Bruce opened his eyes, Joker was a whole lot closer than he'd expected him to be.

“Like, I know this.” Joker tapped his thumbs against Bruce's jaw. “I _know_ it. Could probably sketch it in my sleep. And the rest, well, it's been plastered on the cover of so many magazines that I've forgotten what one looks like without it. But I never connected the dots - or bats.”

Joker chuckled and Bruce wondered who he was actually talking to, because it didn't seem to be him anymore. His eyes were on Bruce, but seemed somewhere else, somewhere far away.

“Of course I was never actually _trying_. Didn't really wanna know about the guy behind the costume. Didn't seem all that important.”

“You disappointed?”

Bruce wasn't sure why he asked, but now that he had he found himself very curious about the answer.

A small smile crept across Joker’s lips. “At first. I mean, can you imagine? The billionaire man-child turns out to be the guy smart enough to ruin _all_ my favourite schemes. Bit of a bruise to the ego, I must say.”

Sometimes Bruce wished people wouldn't be so hard on Bruce Wayne. Sure, he played up the vain, ridiculous persona, but still. He wasn't a _complete_ moron. Was he?

“But then I saw you at that little shindig,” Joker continued. “And I gotta say, Brucie-boy, you became a hell of a lot more interesting.”

It'd been a while since Bruce thought about the gala, the night many things had changed for better or worse. What would that Bruce say if he saw himself now, Joker almost sitting in his lap, holding his face, with the perfect opportunity to kill him if he wanted to?

And their faces were still close and Joker’s thumbs had started moving backwards and forwards through the stubble on his chin, and maybe it was the signs of concussion, but Bruce wasn't pushing him away. In fact, he was pretty sure he was leaning in even closer.

Bruce could feel Joker’s breath on his skin when he saw his lips move, but whatever he'd been about to say or do never happened because the cave suddenly echoed with the screech of metal as the elevator announced its impending arrival.

It was like suddenly being doused with freezing cold water and when Joker stepped away, Bruce felt a ridiculous urge to pull him back. But he didn't and Joker settled back on the cot as Alfred entered the cave.

“Ah, the famous Mister Pennyworth!” Joker said with a beaming smile. He didn't move, though, and when he looked at Bruce it was clear why. Bruce might've said thank you if his head wasn't all over the place. “Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

“In another life I'm sure it'd be likewise,” Alfred replied, walking straight over to the medical bay.

Bruce carefully stood and followed, ready for what experience told him was going to be painful. He couldn't quite decide which was worse, the anaesthetic needle going into his side before the wound was stitched or Alfred's fingers pressing into his shoulder to asses the damage. In the end he decided it was equal and by the time it was all over, Bruce was feeling pretty sorry for himself.

Joker had switched on the news while Alfred worked and, of course, Batman was the top story. And it came as no surprise when Crane was confirmed dead.

“Moodie McMeanie strikes again!” Joker giggled and winked at Bruce.

If he hadn't been in the middle of _another_ coughing fit, Bruce would've glared. This wasn't funny. No, he didn't suddenly expect any great show of compassion from Joker, especially not after everything Crane had put him through, but the loss of Crane meant the loss of information that really would've been helpful. Now Bruce had to do it on his own.

“That cough should settle down by tomorrow,” Alfred said, packing the equipment away. “But make sure you drink plenty of water. And I'd advise a pillow or cushion over the stomach when you cough. It'll help.”

Bruce nodded before he swallowed a handful of pills and several mouthfuls of water. Now all fixed up and bandaged, his body waiting for the effects of the painkillers to kick in, he was almost ready to call it a night. Almost.

“Shall I prepare some supper?” Alfred asked, probably guessing Bruce wouldn't be going to bed right away.

“Please.” Bruce wasn't especially hungry but it was best to have something in his stomach with all the pills he'd just taken.

As the elevator travelled back up, Bruce slowly made his way to the desk and immediately pulled up the Arkham files. They were financial but there was a chance that a facility could've been named at some point. With his previous focus purely on people, he hadn't really paid attention to the addresses.

“I heard you two muttering over there,” Joker said. “Care to share?”

Bruce turned the chair around to face Joker and gave an overview of what Crane had told him. This would have been a perfect opportunity to once again throw Bruce's prolonged absence from Arkham back in his face, because, just as a visit might've stopped Crane’s awful experiments, it would also have started this investigation a whole lot sooner, potentially saving _a lot_ of lives. But Joker didn't and Bruce was immensely grateful, because he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.

After taking down the addresses included in the files, Bruce put them into the computer but not a single one proved useful. He hadn't really expected them to, but it would've been nice. Easier. He'd have to talk to Lucius in the morning.

“Sleep well, darling!” Joker said, blowing him a kiss. And Bruce tried very hard not to think about what may or may not have almost happened.

-

“Remember to call when you get there,” Bruce said as Alfred climbed into the car. “And when you land, too.”

“Yes, Master Wayne. We _have_ been through this.”

“I know. Just...make sure you do.”

“Sir, I will be _fine_.” Alfred reached through the window to grab his hand and, under the guise of a handshake, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Just make sure that madman doesn't trash the house while I'm gone.”

Bruce nodded and, with a smile that hid the nerves bubbling in his stomach, Bruce watched and waved as the car drove away. Alfred was gone. Bruce was on his own, now.

Well, no, not quite on his own. Joker was still here but that was hardly reassuring. And by the look he gave the plate of toast Bruce put in front of him, he seemed to be lamenting Alfred's absence, too.

Joker picked up a slice and took a bite. “I miss the old guy, already.”

Bruce didn't say anything and gulped down his coffee. He felt, if possible, even worse than last night, his entire body aching and his head was something else. He'd barely managed any sleep, maybe a couple of hours at best and just...he didn't have the energy for today. He wanted to climb onto that cot and sleep the rest of the day away. But that kind of luxury would have to wait because he had far too much to do and he knew his head wouldn't let up until he'd done it.

A call to Fox was first on the list.

“You sound as though you've seen better days.”

“I have,” Bruce agreed, voice still a little raw after last night, before immediately getting to the point. Bruce needed to find out where Nisson was manufacturing its drugs, and the best way to do it would be to hack their systems. But he wasn't sure the method he'd used in Arkham would work this time around. Nisson was guaranteed to have the very best security and Bruce wasn't in good shape to deal with that right now.

“I’d recommend a very good hacker,” Lucius said.

“Know any?” Bruce was aware of some, but nowhere close to knowing whether they were the best in their field. He was pretty sure Lucius had some contacts, though. This sort of thing was much closer to his area of expertise.

“I'll see what I can do. Are you coming in or shall I just call?”

“Call. I'll be here.” Bruce didn't plan on going _anywhere_ today.

When Bruce returned to the table where a game of solitaire was just being set up, Joker began.

“I’m thinking, Bats, at the rate we’re going we’ll have this case solved in no time. _Sooo…_ ” Joker drew the word out far longer than it needed to be and, resting his elbows on the table, leaned in. “Perhaps it’s time for a little chat.”

The cup almost touching Bruce’s lip went still. “About?”

“Y’know...this whole rehab malarkey.”

Malarkey. Bruce didn’t like that word. It suggested Joker wasn’t going to take it seriously. However, if Joker was willing to have this conversation, Bruce certainly wasn’t going to let something like that stop him, so he lowered the cup and, almost mirroring Joker’s pose, nodded for him to continue.

“Now, I know I said we’d wait until all this nonsense was over but, frankly, I’m bored and neither of us has anything better to do right now, so…what’s the plan? Am I gonna go back to Arkham or...have you found some new place to dump me? Or what about _here_? Because I gotta say I’m growing quite fond of these!” He giggled and lifted his wrists to rattle the chains, leaving Bruce to wonder if he should risk a lie - being so uncharacteristically unprepared didn’t look so good - but what’d be the point? Joker would only see though it, anyway.

“I don't know,” he admitted, head dipping a little as he lowered his eyes and the cave went very quiet, leaving Bruce to wonder if he’d fucked up again, but Joker’s voice eventually cut the silence and Bruce was sure he hadn't imagined the hint of a challenge in his tone.

“Then shouldn't you start planning?”

Bruce looked up again and decided to throw the challenge right back at him. “You tell me.”

Their eyes locked, both of them falling into silence once again and it seemed as if the cave had shrunk, unable to contain the intensity in those lurid green eyes. But Bruce didn’t move, despite the urge to squirm under the scrutiny, even when Joker leaned in even closer.

“You can't fix me, y'know. No matter the pills or the voltage or the number of quacks that come to _discuss my feelings_.” Joker tapped his head. “Not gonna change.”

Bruce knew that. He didn’t like it but he knew. And that’d never been the point of this, anyway. He didn’t want to _fix him_ , he simply wanted to show Joker there was a way for them to co-exist without destroying Gotham in the process. He said as much to Joker who, after subjecting Bruce to another staring contest that left him wanting to crawl out of his own skin, eventually seemed satisfied and the intensity in his eyes dialled down a notch. “Good. Remember that. Because if you go into this hoping to make a good man out of me, we’re both gonna be very disappointed.”

He leaned back and his attention went to the cards that’d been waiting patiently for him to begin the game and Bruce wondered if he should risk breathing yet because, although this was as near as damn it to a yes, he wouldn’t let himself believe it until the actual word came out of Joker’s mouth.

“Relax, Bruce. It’s a yes.”

Bruce let out a slow, quiet breath. He’d waited almost a year to hear that and, although part of him wanted to give in to the panic already flooding his veins, the rest was...exhausted. After all the build up and everything that’d come with it, to finally get the answer, to _know _, made his entire body want to slump onto the table and pass out.__

__Bruce reached for his cup but was stopped by Joker suddenly leaning forward again and grabbing his wrist in a grip that was only just shy of painful._ _

__“You can't run away this time,” Joker warned. “It’s me and you, all the way, start to finish, just like you said. This is your last chance.”_ _

____

The intensity was back in Joker’s eyes and Bruce made himself hold it. And to show that he was equally committed, wrapped his fingers around that pale, skinny wrist and held on just as tight.

__

The phone started to ring and Bruce was tempted to ignore it because, well, he wanted to hold onto this just a little bit longer. Everything had been going wrong lately, so he wanted to enjoy something positive for a change. But it was probably Alfred calling and that was just enough to make Bruce let go.

__

Joker didn't seem quite so willing and rather than move his hand away, he just let his fingers go slack and their palms slid across one another as Bruce pulled away.

__

He lifted the receiver, deciding that while the call wasn't necessarily private, it didn't mean he wanted Joker listening in.

__

“Hello?”

__

“Mister Wayne?” asked a voice that definitely wasn't Alfred.

__

“Speaking.”

__

“Good morning. This is Doctor Stewart from Gotham General.”

__

Bruce frowned. He wasn't aware of any appointments or meetings there, unless this was regarding someone he-

__

Oh god. No. Please, not that.

__

“I'm calling about Alfred Pennyworth.”

__

“What happened?” Bruce knew his voice was harsher than it should've been, but the panic was rising faster than he could stop it.

__

“I'm afraid there's been an accident.”

__

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/Kw83EXM)

__


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bruce does the wrong stupid things instead of the right stupid things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly I AM SO SORRY FOR WHAT I PUT YOU ALL THROUGH LAST CHAPTER BUT HOPEFULLY THIS ONE WILL MAKE UP FOR IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
> Secondly, ANG now has a little prequel one-shot, [Colour](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11524125), which is J's pov and works with the white-haired J headcanon I have, which'll make a lot more sense to those not aware of it when you read it. Also, that HC is gonna be written back into ANG, but it's only gonna need a line or two here and there in a couple of chapters so you won't have to reread the whole story to understand it.
> 
> And lastly massive thanks to [altered_eagle](http://archiveofourown.org/users/altered_eagle/pseuds/altered_eagle) for helping me get the fuck through this goddamn fucking chapter and providing an excellent chapter summary. THANK YOU!

Bruce was eight years old when his parents died. He didn't remember much of the event itself, just snatches of memory that never fit any set sequence but were enough to haunt and define the rest of his life.

But he remembered what happened afterwards, clear as day. Alfred had collected him from the police station, driven him home, made him supper and tucked him into bed. And when Bruce'd woken up howling with tears, Alfred had run in and held him tight for the rest of the night. And the night after that. And the night after _that._ In fact, it'd been almost two months before Bruce could fall asleep without needing to hold Alfred’s hand and it'd taken another six for Bruce to make it through a whole night without screaming the house down. Poor Alfred had probably forgotten what a good night’s sleep felt like.

But he didn't complain. Not once. Even when the exhaustion was so heavy that Bruce could see the drag in his steps, or when the stress of fighting for guardianship etched premature lines deep into his face, he kept on, day after day, making sure that as the rest of Bruce's world turned upside down and sideways, at least at home things could fall into some kind of routine.

And for thirty six years that'd never changed. Through scraped knees and school fights and first dates and broken bones, secret identities and cover stories and the best contractors to construct a cowl, which ties went with which suits and _isn't it about time you got a haircut Master Wayne?_ Alfred had been there for it all.

And Bruce hadn't even driven him to the airport.

The doctor - Stewart, was it? - was talking and Bruce was trying his hardest to listen but his brain wasn't cooperating, still reeling from those two words that'd been spoken five minutes ago.

 _He's alive_.

The sheer overwhelming relief that followed would've hit hard enough to floor Bruce if he'd let it. But he couldn't. He needed to see Alfred with his own eyes, know that it wasn't a cruel hallucination before he could give in. And even then, looking through the window, seeing Alfred lying on the bed with tubes and needles everywhere, the green line on the machine beside him spiking and dipping with every heartbeat, Bruce still couldn't. It...it was too close, too much like _then_ and he hadn't been lucky that time around and there was no reason why he should be now.

“Mister Wayne?”

Bruce looked at the doctor blankly for a second, before realising he was being spoken to. Ordinarily, he would've apologised, but…

“Can I see him?” he asked instead.

“Of course,” Stewart said and opened the door. “He's sleeping right now and I have to ask that you don't wake him. As you can imagine, he needs all the rest he can get.”

Bruce nodded. He didn't have a problem with that. In fact, he preferred it. Alfred needed to focus on getting better, not watch a middle aged man have an emotional breakdown.

The room was quiet when Bruce walked in, interrupted only by electronic beeps and with the curtains closed and under the ugly fluorescent lighting, Alfred looked even paler than usual, blue veins almost luminescent under his skin. The cuts and scrapes littering his arms were lurid in comparison and Bruce had the overwhelming urge to grab a cloth and scrub them clean or at the very least cover them up.

Alfred's right eyelid was a dark pinky purple, matching the equally nasty bruise on his left temple and even fast asleep he looked exhausted. It wasn't surprising. A car crash had put him here and, according to the doctor, he was lucky to get away with the injuries he did. Fractured ribs and a broken hip and leg, they were all things he should eventually recover from, but he'd never walk without the aid of a cane again.

Bruce stepped closer until he was looking over him and could imagine, if it was anyone else lying there, what Alfred would be saying right now, that this wasn't Bruce’s fault, that the blame lay elsewhere and Bruce should focus his energy on finding _them_ . But it wasn't someone else lying there, it was _Alfred_ and there wasn’t anyone else around to talk sense into him.

If he'd just driven him himself...

Before Bruce could think any more on _that,_ he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and pulled it up to the side of the bed. Carefully taking Alfred's hand between both of his own, Bruce brought it up to his chin and inhaled deeply. He could feel the pulse under his thumb and pressed in a little harder. It was steady, like the rise and fall of Alfred's chest and beeping of the heart monitor, and looking at his face again, Alfred didn't seem to be in any pain. That was good, although it didn't erase the sting when Bruce thought of the agony Alfred would've been in before he got here.

His grip on Alfred's hand tightened and he only just managed to catch himself. He needed to calm down. Everything else could be dealt with later, for now he just needed to be here _for_ _Alfred._

With his thumb still on that steady pulse, Bruce closed his eyes and focused on it, letting the _thump thump thump_ match the beep of the machine. And it seemed to work, a task to distract from everything spinning around in his head. _Thump thump thump, beep beep beep, thump thump thump…_

When the Earth suddenly lurched forward, Bruce jolted and his eyes flew open. He didn't know where he was or why but seeing the room he was in and the person lying on the bed, everything quickly slotted into place. He'd fallen asleep.

With a jaw-splitting yawn, Bruce released Alfred's hand and decided it was time for coffee. But one look at Alfred had him rooted to the spot, as if leaving the room would make Alfred disappear, or the second the door clicked shut he'd be thrown into some alternate universe where Alfred _hadn't_ survived.

Dragging a hand down his face, Bruce told himself to snap out of it and stood, side burning as he moved. With everything that'd happened he'd almost forgotten about last night and, wishing he'd brought some painkillers, went in search of coffee.

-

It was almost two hours later and at the bottom of his second cup that Bruce felt Alfred stir. His fingers twitched and when Bruce looked up he saw his eyelids flutter. Bruce shifted his chair even closer, which his side most definitely _wasn't_ happy about, and waited for him to wake up properly.

It took a while but eventually Alfred turned his head and their eyes met.

“Master Wayne.”

His voice sounded as frail as he looked and Bruce took his hand again, managing a small smile even as his eyes started to sting.

“How are you feeling?” A stupid question but Bruce didn't have a better one.

“About as awful as you look.”

The laugh fell out before Bruce could stop it. Even a car crash couldn't soften Alfred’s tongue. The stinging in Bruce's eyes got worse and all the guilt that'd been brewing since he arrived was ready to spill over. He pulled Alfred's hand back up to his chin and took a deep breath.

“Alfred…” he paused, voice catching ever so slightly. “I'm so-”

Alfred shook his head and squeezed his fingers as hard as he could.

“No.”

Alfred's voice was barely above a whisper but the authority behind it was as strong as ever. Bruce went quiet and tears were just a blink away from falling as he reminded himself that this was exactly what he _didn't_ want to do.

He tried to think of something else to say, but was saved the trouble by a knock at the door as Doctor Stewart entered. Although Bruce hadn't been paying attention when he and the doctor spoke, he’d gotten the gist of Alfred's condition, so used this as an excuse to escape and get himself under control.

After fifteen minutes, several handfuls of cold water to the face and a reminder to save the breakdown for later, Bruce returned to see Alfred sat upright, looking far more alert now.

Stewart left, leaving Bruce and Alfred alone again and the old man smiled.

“So it seems I need to find you a new housekeeper.”

Bruce nodded as he took his seat again and could tell Alfred wasn't happy about it. He wasn't a man accustomed to being idle.

“And they reckon it'll be a couple of weeks at least before I can leave. Do you think you can manage without me until then?”

“I'll survive,” Bruce said, thinking about the toast he'd eaten that morning. Joker probably wouldn't agree, though and, by the look on Alfred's face, he didn't either. Bruce knew what was coming.

“Have you eaten today?” Alfred asked.

“Breakfast.” Maybe not the most substantial he’d ever had but it was a meal, at least.

“And nothing since then?”

Bruce held his hand out, gesturing to the room. “Well, I've been here-”

“And yet you managed to find the coffee machine.” Alfred nodded to the empty cups.

“Alfred-” Bruce began, not in the mood to be treated like a child, but apparently Alfred wasn't done.

“You don't look as though you've slept much, either. How many hours did you get last night?”

Bruce sighed, tempted to lie but knowing Alfred would see right through it. “A couple.”

“Then I suggest you get some rest, Master Wayne.”

Bruce frowned. “What?”

“You heard me. I want you to go home and sleep.”

“Alfred, I can't _leave_ ,” Bruce insisted. “You just got hit by a truck-”

“Of which I am well aware, but _you_ look ready to keel over.”

“I’ll be _fine_ ,” Bruce said, even though he was feeling far from it. But if Alfred seriously thought he was leaving-

“Master Wayne,” Alfred cut in. “You haven't slept, you've barely eaten and, after what happened last night, you ought to be a patient here, too. You're running on fumes and that isn't going to do anybody any good.”

“Well, I'll just give Nisson a call and ask them to stop poisoning the city long enough for me to take a nap, shall I?”

“If you like,” Alfred replied, not the least bit intimidated by Bruce's attitude.

Bruce pressed his lips together in a tight line and the room went quiet again as they engaged in the sort of battle of wills that Bruce already knew he’d lose. But it wouldn't stop him trying.

But when Alfred sighed and his warm fingers closed around Bruce's, Bruce felt the fight fade. He wanted to scowl but Alfred gave him _that look_ and Bruce had no choice but to concede defeat. His head dropped and he let out a long weary breath.

“Stubborn old man,” he muttered, looking back up to see a glint in Alfred's eyes.

“Likewise.”

And _that_ finally put something close to a smile back on Bruce's face.

Another deep breath and Bruce straightened. “Fine,” he said, although it wasn't, not even a little bit. He hated the idea of leaving Alfred alone in this place, but knew staying was only going to cause him more stress and that was something the old man could do without.

Bruce stood and took one last good look at the battered and bruised but very much _alive_ Alfred and asked, “Do you need anything?”

“You,” Alfred replied. “To eat, sleep and _not_ do anything stupid. I know the last one may be a stretch but try your best.”

Bruce almost rolled his eyes, but his stomach twisted at what Alfred said. Because Bruce knew exactly who’d put Alfred in here and why, and he didn't know if they meant to kill him or not, but Bruce felt that same itch he'd gotten when hunting down Crane, the need to find the people responsible and make them pay.

“No promises,” he said, heading for the door.

-

The drive home was a blur, Bruce’s brain switching to autopilot to try and conserve energy. He didn't even remember buying food, but obviously had because it was now sitting in a bag on the kitchen countertop, making his stomach twist uncomfortably every time the smell wafted by. He hadn't even realised the time and, as if there wasn't enough guilt hanging over him already, it was being topped up by the fact he'd inadvertently made Joker starve too.

It felt like it was becoming a habit to find Joker sitting on the table whenever Bruce entered the cave, making him wonder why he'd even bothered giving him a chair. He felt the scrutiny as he approached, Joker obviously trying to gauge his mood, but it didn't last long and Joker turned back to the computer screen to watch Marshall talk to a room full of journalists.

“She's very good, y'know,” Joker said, eyes narrowing. “I _almost_ believe her.”

Bruce made a noncommittal noise as he placed the food and plates on the table, which Joker took as a cue to slide off and actually sit in a chair like a regular person. When Bruce circled the table, Joker held his hands out ready to be uncuffed.

“Chinese, eh?” Joker took a good long sniff of the food Bruce was starting to plate up. “Guess the old man’s gonna pull through, after all.”

Yeah. With nothing worse than a broken hip. 

From there, Bruce knew what’d follow. He felt it in the tremble of his hand as it reached for the bag, the tightness in his chest and sting in his eyes. And it didn’t matter that he had the worst audience imaginable because the tears were falling before Bruce could stop them, leaving him with no choice but to bury his face in his hands and let it happen. 

He expected laughter. Or maybe a remark, something cold and cutting and funny only to Joker. But what he got were his arms carefully moved out of the way and a weight settling in his lap. Bruce shook his head, trying to push Joker away but the effort was half hearted at best and when arms wrapped around his neck to pull him into an embrace, Bruce let his face fall into Joker’s shoulder and continued to weep.

It wasn't dignified or pretty and it certainly didn’t do the injury in his side any favours and everything he'd held back in the hospital threatened to suffocate him as he remembered the stretch of time between ending the phone call and reaching the hospital. The absolute terror he'd felt when the doctor walked towards him. The almost crippling guilt that this was _ all his fault_. If he'd driven Alfred, found Crane sooner, visited Joker - 

Bruce clenched his fists, gathering handfuls of Joker’s shirt as he started crying even harder. And he had no idea how long it lasted but by the time the tears dried up he was left with a throbbing skull, heaving chest and fingers that'd started to cramp. Slowly, he opened his hands, resting his palms flat on Joker’s back as he took in deep, deep breaths. 

He stayed that way, resting his head against Joker’s shoulder, until it was tipped back and fingers started wiping away the evidence of what’d just happened. And when the tears were all gone, they moved to the rest of his face, tracing his features very much like they had last night, slow and gentle in a way the Bruce knew he shouldn’t enjoy but was in no frame of mind to resist. 

When Joker eventually spoke, his voice was quiet and free of any of the derision Bruce had expected. “You've been put through the wringer, huh?”

That was an understatement. More like three rounds in a boxing ring, hit by a freight train and _ then _ put through the wringer.

Joker pressed their foreheads together, voice dropping to a whisper. 

“But he’s alright, darling. He’s  _alright_.” 

Yes, he was. This time. But Bruce knew he wasn't going to have as much luck next time around because the deeper he dug, the more desperate these people became, willing to go as far as they needed to get what they wanted. And after Alfred, what was next? It was him...and Joker. The thought of that made his hands tighten on Joker’s waist. 

Tilting his head, Joker’s nose pressed into Bruce's cheek as a steadying hand touched his jaw. And once again displaying that uncanny ability to read his thoughts, Joker said, “No, no, no. None of that right now, thank you.” 

Part of Bruce wanted to yell at Joker because this wasn’t something they could simply ignore but the rest of him...it’d had enough. Trying to juggle everything at once, feeling like one step forward only ever rewarded him with two steps back, sick of having to pay a price for any of the good things that’d tried to come out of it. 

And Bruce didn’t want to imagine what the price might be for this, having Joker see him at his weakest and pull him in rather than push him away. Of course, Joker could easily use this against him in the future but, right now, it felt so very close to something Bruce wished they could have. A future where they weren't constantly trying to tear one another apart. A future that might just have a sliver of a chance if by some miracle they got through all this. 

A future that was very easy to picture with Joker nuzzling his face, fitting into his lap so easily that Bruce pulled him nearer without even thinking. And with warm breath against his face and lips teasingly close, Bruce knew that if Joker tried to kiss him right now, he wasn’t likely to stop him. The day had left him too exhausted to hold up all the heavy excuses that usually held him back. It was sad to think that it took something like this for him to finally give in.

Joker seemed to sense it because his hands moved to cup Bruce’s face and he started leaning in. And Bruce did too, slowly, carefully… 

But it wasn't a kiss. Not quite. It was the promise of one, Joker’s lips pressing against the corner of his own and staying there, leaving Bruce to take the next step if he wanted. And Bruce was tempted, all he’d have to do was turn his face a fraction to the left...

But he wasn’t ready for it yet. So, after letting the moment stretch for a minute more, tucked his face back into the crook of Joker’s neck and let himself calm right back down until his stomach gurgled, reminding him that he’d barely eaten all day and there was food waiting that it’d like to start tucking into, thanks very much.

Bruce felt the chuckle vibrate in Joker’s chest and his head was tipped back again as unnaturally bright eyes looked right into his.

“Should probably eat now, hmm?” he said, but didn't move straight away. He just kept looking, eyes raking over every inch of Bruce’s face, something in them that, right now, Bruce wanted to see more of, before Joker’s hands squashed his cheeks together and the chuckle turned into a giggle. Then Joker finally climbed off his lap to go back to his seat.

Bruce didn't say anything, just continued dishing up the food and as they ate it didn't feel quite as weird or awkward as he thought it should. His face was still tingling though and he couldn't quite lift his eyes to meet Joker’s, even when Joker spoke.

“Isn't your foxy friend supposed to be contacting you?”

Bruce cleared his throat to answer. “Uh, yeah. But...but I need to wait until he's got whoever he's bringing in to hack Nisson’s systems.”

Joker tapped his chin with his fork, before turning to the monitors. “In that case, I say it's time for some R and R.” And he jumped out of his seat, taking his plate of food with him over to one of the large chairs by the desk.

Bruce didn’t follow and didn’t bother telling Joker to get his feet off the desk. He didn’t have the energy, so focused on finishing his meal in relative peace.

Joker’s choice of television was some godawful soap opera that he felt Bruce needed a running commentary for, but Bruce let it all wash over him, mind preoccupied with far more important things. His eyes went to Joker every now and then, watching him get absorbed in the sordid love triangle between a mother, daughter and the mother’s boyfriend, able to see his reactions in one of the smaller monitors. And, for the most part, Bruce’s attention went unnocticed until the credits rolled, where Joker caught him through the very same monitor and turned around to flash a smile that was too warm for Bruce to know what to do with. 

With the food gone and unable to fight the exhaustion any longer, Bruce stood to let Joker know he was planning to head back upstairs. As always, Joker was ready for the chains but he stood closer to Bruce than usual this time and when the second cuff clicked shut, Joker’s fingers wrapped around his wrist and squeezed. Bruce didn't know what to do besides squeeze back and then said, “I'll see you in the morning.”

Joker smiled. “Here's hoping there's something better than toast on the menu.”

The corners of Bruce's lips tugged but he wasn't quite ready to smile yet. “I'll see what I can do.”

It wasn't until the afternoon that Lucius finally got in touch to tell Bruce everything was in place. But there was a problem. Nisson had the very best security, meaning any hack would be detected right away, so Bruce had to make a choice. The first option was to get the information and learn everything he could about the place - blueprints, staff numbers etc - before coming up with a solid plan. That would've been the ideal but it'd also give Nisson time to bring in extra security, set up traps, possibly even start moving things to a new location and Bruce wasn't in the best condition to deal with that.

The second option was to head to the lab as soon as Lucius had an address. A lot more risky because Bruce'd essentially be going in blind, but it gave him an element of surprise.

It wasn't an easy decision and it was made even harder by Joker’s constant insistence that the whole thing would run a whole lot smoother if Bruce had help. _His_ help, to be exact. Bruce didn't even need a second to consider his answer.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” Joker whined. “You need a distraction and who's better at that than me? We worked so well together last time.”

“And almost got caught,” Bruce reminded him. “I'm _not_ taking you. It's too dangerous.”

The look he got in reply couldn't have been further from yesterday if he tried, but Bruce dug in his heels. This wasn't something he was ready to budge on. Joker wasn't leaving the cave, not with the way things were at the moment.

In the end, Bruce went with the second option and had to willfully ignore Joker’s protests. He was already well aware of the state he was currently in, but waiting wasn't an option. People were dying and Nisson were closing in. He had to act now.

He made sure his side and shoulder were strapped up as well as they could be, knowing he'd have to rely on stealth instead of fighting tonight and didn't miss the way Joker had stopped spinning in the chair to watch Bruce put on the cowl. It was still odd having Joker of all people watch him get in and out of the suit and he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it, which was why he never looked at Joker directly but always saw his reactions as a reflection in the glass.

“Stay safe,” Joker called and Bruce ignored the edge to his tone as he walked to the car.

Lucius’ voice came in tinny through the cowl’s earpiece. “Ready?”

“Yes.”

It took ten minutes for Lucius to give him an address and Bruce was on the move instantly, driving as fast as he could to the outskirts of Gotham. Nisson wouldn't know what information was stolen right away, but they'd probably have a good idea so he needed to get there before the alarm was raised.

He parked three blocks away, grappling the rest, but when he reached the location he had to double check the address.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Bruce asked, magnifying the cowl’s lenses to scan the location a third time.

“Hold on.” There was a pause and then Lucius said, “Yes, Bruce, that's the address. You should be right in front of the lab.”

Bruce's eyes narrowed. “I'm in front of a building, but it isn't a lab...and I don't think it ever has been.”

He looked again. The building was dark, with what might've once been a parking lot in front and along the first two floors most of the windows were smashed, the walls covered in graffiti. The place can't have been used for years.

“It's a set up,” Bruce said and scanned the area again, looking for people this time.

“Then get yourself out of there.”

Bruce didn't need to be told twice. There wasn't any point sticking around, there'd be no clues here. He'd have to head back to the cave and regroup, figure out some other way of getting the information. Remembering the faked Arkham blueprints, Bruce really should've expected something like this. Nisson wasn't stupid, they knew how to cover their tracks and Bruce had to push down the frustration at how close he thought he'd been.

 _Stupid_ , he thought to himself as he checked the coast was clear before gliding down from the roof to where the car was waiting.

His feet had barely touched the ground when he heard it. And he didn't have time to do more than dodge the first swing when they were on him, four, five, six, he couldn't count, a mass of fists and legs that came straight for him and left him no choice but to dodge whatever he could and bear the brunt of the rest. He didn't know where they'd been hiding or if they'd somehow followed him the whole way, but he could already feel that this was a fight he wasn't going to win.

Bruce tried to compensate for his side and arm, but it left him almost useless against that many people and he was soon on the ground, being kicked, punched and knocked around like a rag doll, every blow that connected with his side sending a shot of fire right through him. He tried to somehow move, find some kind of opening, _anything_ to get away, because these people were going to kill him and he couldn't let that happen. There had to be-

The thought didn't finish before everything went black.

It was halfway through a hand soap commercial that the channel cut to a woman wearing far too much red, with hair that was just a little too blonde and lips that didn't seem to fit on her face. Joker hadn't even been paying attention to the screen and only glanced up because of the sudden switch in sound, but when he saw the headline running underneath the news anchor…

He dropped the cards and was on his feet in a second, moving as close to the monitor as the chains would let him to read the big red letters screaming back at him.

**_BATMAN IN CUSTODY_ **

Joker had to read it four times to let it sink in and as ideas started battering his brain at a thousand miles an hour, he whispered, “Oh, Brucie, what have you done?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE WEEPY BRUCE AND KISSY CUDDLES!!!!!!!!!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me updating twice in a month! But, y'know, I've waited thirteen chapters to get here and I got excited. It did, however, take about four attempts to get the last scene done and I'm just crossing every single fucking one of my limbs hoping it's worked.

[](http://i.imgur.com/XxQ7qV8)

Getting caught was an eventuality Bruce had prepared himself for from the moment Batman had begun. He'd imagined every possible scenario, obsessed over every little detail, plan after plan put into place. He knew he couldn't prepare for every eventuality, but whatever happened, Bruce was determined to protect those he cared about and take whatever came his way. 

But he wasn't ready to take this. The crimes being flung at his feet were ones he  _ wasn't  _ guilty of and the thought of the people responsible actually getting away with it made him want to tear down the walls. But Bruce was in so much pain he could barely think, let alone move. His entire body throbbed and ached in a way it hadn't for a long time and he was surprised the pounding in his head wasn’t heard by everyone in the building. The hard cot underneath him didn't help and neither did the armour, because Kevlar was good for protection but it wasn't designed to cushion a bruised and battered body. He wanted to take some of it off just to relieve the pressure, but his shoulder blazed every time he tried to move and it left him with no choice but to simply lie there and wait.

And to distract from the pain, Bruce tried to figure out what the hell happened. By rights he should be dead but Nisson had clearly decided against it and Bruce could've torn his hair out in frustration. He'd finally driven them to that point of desperation Joker once spoke about and to think he’d been  _ so close _ ...

But Bruce was derailed completely by thoughts of the man he’d left chained up in the cave and he hoped to God Joker hadn’t lost his flair for escapology. If they found him they’d kill him, no question about it and-

No. No, he’d be alright, he’d find a way, he always did. And Bruce kept telling himself that over and over, hoping it might just make it true.

And then there was Alfred and Lucius and everyone and everything else Bruce Wayne had ever been associated with. Bruce knew there wasn't any hard evidence to prove their connection to Batman, he'd made sure of it, so Lucius would just about emerge unscathed, but the cops were going to give Alfred a hard time. Bruce would try everything to convince them that he worked alone but it was going to be a stretch to imagine the man who’d lived with and worked for him for over forty years didn’t have  _ some _ inkling of what was going on. He sent a silent apology to the old man who's life was about to become even more of a nightmare.

Heavy footsteps cut through Bruce’s thoughts and he knew in a place like this, with the reputation he had, any show of weakness would be taken advantage of, so it hurt like hell and brought tears to his eyes but Bruce pushed through the pain to get himself upright. He only had time for a few deep breaths before the door was unlocked and five people walked in; Bullock and four cops, two of which had their weapons ready. Apparently they weren’t taking any chances.

“Wayne,” Bullock said. So it wasn’t  _ mister _ anymore. Probably never would be now.

Bruce didn’t say anything, just carefully got to his feet, gritting his teeth as his body screamed at him to stop. Bullock waved one of the unarmed cops forward and Bruce saw the clothing in his hand. He tried not to sigh with relief at the thought that the armour might be coming off soon.

“You’re gonna be uncuffed and change into these.” The clothes landed at Bruce’s feet. “Any funny shit and my boys’ll gun ya down, ya hear?”

Bruce nodded and held his arms out. Then they all stood back and watched as Bruce undid every catch and lock, stripping the armour away piece by piece until he was left in the thin undersuit. There was a large red stain right where his stitches were and he saw a couple of the cops give each other a look, but nothing was said and Bruce wasn’t going to push. When the undersuit was removed, Bruce saw that the stitches had burst and it didn’t look pretty, but even when Bullock said they’d get someone to check on it he didn’t say a word, just took a deep breath and reached for the clothes on the floor. 

By the time he was dressed - in clothes made for someone wider and shorter than he was - Bruce was ready to collapse back on the cot but he knew that wouldn’t be happening any time soon and held his wrists out to be cuffed again.

He was led from the cell to one of the interrogation rooms he’d been in more times than he could remember but he was viewing it from a whole new angle this time, sitting in the chair as his cuffs were replaced for those attached to the table. The stray thought that Joker would enjoy seeing this almost made Bruce laugh, which was a sure sign he was close to losing it.

Then Bruce was left alone again and he looked over at the one-way glass. His reflection didn't much resemble the Bruce Wayne these people knew, with dark stubble and dried blood around his nose and mouth and the shadow of a newly forming bruise darkening the left side of his jaw. And he wasn't sure who was behind the glass but he knew  _ someone _ was. Marshall, perhaps, and definitely Gordon and it was hard to decide whether he wanted the Commissioner there or not. Although a part of Bruce wanted to see him, one he couldn’t afford to entertain right now, he also wanted Gordon as far away from this as possible. He wasn’t necessarily in the same danger that Lucius or Alfred might be, but he’d been one of Batman’s strongest supporters and that could be enough to put him in the firing line.

But Gordon wasn’t behind the glass. Instead, he was walking into the room, carrying a large file in one hand and a plastic cup of water in the other. He didn’t look at Bruce as he approached the table and Bruce wasn’t sure he ever wanted him to. It was...it just didn’t feel right. Gordon had been there when Bruce’s parents were shot, had helped find the man responsible for killing them and just as his retirement loomed, he was discovering that that little boy had grown into  _ this _ .

The scrape of the chair being pulled away from the table drilled into Bruce’s ears and the pounding in his head got even louder.

“Figured you could use it,” Gordon said quietly, pushing the cup of water towards him and that was when their eyes finally met. 

Bruce couldn’t quite figure out the expression in them because he wasn’t looking at Bruce the same way everyone else did, that  _ oh my God Batman is Bruce Wayne  _ look. It was almost as if he’d already known and, to be honest, Bruce wouldn’t have put it past him. He’d become Commissioner for a reason. But there might’ve been anger there and disappointment or it might’ve been a figment of Bruce’s guilty imagination, because Gordon was someone Bruce trusted, as close to a friend as he knew how to have behind a cape and cowl and making Gordon find out this way felt like a betrayal somehow, even as he knew he couldn’t have done things any differently.

Without a word, Bruce reached for the cup and gulped the whole lot down. Yes, he definitely needed it and was silently grateful to Gordon for it, but that didn’t stop it making the worry worse. He wanted to tell Gordon to stop because being nice wouldn’t end well for him and Bruce needed him where he was so that when the information was passed on to Vale, there’d be someone he could trust to actually do something about it.

Gordon placed the file on the table and took a deep breath and the interrogation started with Bruce being asked if he wanted a lawyer. He shook his head. What was the point? Gordon frowned but didn’t push, probably thinking along the same lines, before getting to the reason they were here.

“I won't bother listing everything you're being charged with, we’ll be here all day otherwise. But I will ask about  _ this_." 

Gordon pulled out a series of photos and laid them in front of Bruce, who didn’t even need to look at them to know who and what was in them.

“All the evidence points to you being guilty,” he said and it was  _ so hard  _ to look at him, because Bruce immediately wanted to tell him everything. But he couldn’t, not when Gordon was looking at him with eyes that said he might just believe him. “But, well, I need to know. Did you kill Ruth Adams and Jonathan Crane?”

No. The people watching behind the fucking glass did. But Bruce couldn’t tell him that so kept his mouth shut and let those eyes narrow slightly as they kept watching him. Bruce could see how much he wanted a  _ no _ and when Gordon leaned forward Bruce had to fight the urge to lean away.

“Bruce,” Gordon said, voice dropping so low it was a struggle to hear. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me. Whatever happens, you’re going away for a very long time but I can get you off death row at least.”

Gordon really didn’t think he did it. That, or he just didn’t want to believe it and it was getting too much for Bruce to bear. He should know. Bruce should  _ tell _ him but…

His eyes went to the glass. There was no way of giving Gordon a message. He couldn’t whisper or write on paper and there was nobody else in the building he trusted enough to deliver it for him. All he could do was sit there, neither confirming nor denying and hope Gordon didn’t ask too many questions too soon. If he just waited, let Bruce make a call, let him get the information to Vale...

They continued watching each other in silence until Gordon finally gave in and his head dropped with a long, deep sigh. 

“They’re pushing for Blackgate,” he said and Bruce knew what that meant. A death sentence whether he was convicted of murder or not. “But I think I’ve been able to talk them round to sending you to Arkham, instead. At least until the trial.”

Bruce went cold. Not there. God,  _ anywhere _ but there. He'd take his chances with every single thug in Blackgate over that place and, shit, Gordon didn't even  _ know _ . He actually thought he was doing Bruce a favour and it was almost enough to make Bruce crack, at least reveal enough so they didn't make him set foot anywhere near that place, but they were watching. Which meant Bruce needed to get himself out of here.

Realising he wasn't going to get any answers, Gordon let out another sigh, one that carried the weight of every one of his sixty plus years, before gathering the pictures and standing up. He looked at Bruce for a little while longer, perhaps a last ditch hope that Bruce might hanged his mind and then turned and left the room.

Bruce wasn’t given a chance to recover because within minutes Bullock was back and the real interrogation began. Bruce didn't pay much attention to it, letting the demands and accusations wash over him as he tried to figure a way out. There had to be one.  _ Had _ to be. If he could just get hold of a set of keys or - 

When Bullock had run his throat raw, getting no further than Gordon, he called it a day and Bruce was more than ready to go back to his cell. He'd endured the pain as long as he could but it was getting too much, he just wanted to lie down and didn't care where. He’d even settle for the floor of the interrogation room if he had to.

It seemed his prayers were answered when officers returned to take him back to his cell, where the cuffs were taken off and he was finally able to lie down. He closed his eyes and the relief fell out of his lips in a shaky sigh as, for a few minutes, he did _ absolutely nothing _ . He could afford that, at least.

But the peace was quickly broken when the door opened again and two people Bruce didn’t recognise walked in. A woman and a man, both in sharp suits with faces that might as well have been carved from stone, Bruce already knew they weren’t GCPD and carrying no form of visible identification didn't strike him as a good omen.

And he was right. They went in immediately, the man slamming a fist into Bruce’s stomach and pulling him to the floor before the woman joined, pressing her knee into his throat to begin an interrogation of their own. He figured out quickly who they were working for as they tried to coerce every scrap of information they could out of him and it only took a few minutes for Bruce to come as close as he’d ever been to giving in. 

When the woman dug her fingers hard into his side, Bruce didn’t bother stopping the tears and they rolled down his face as she leaned in close, voice disgustingly gentle when she promised to stop as soon as Bruce talked. But Bruce couldn’t have spoken even if he wanted to and settled for a glare, knowing it left him as good as dead and praying that whatever they had planned next didn’t take too long. He was well past his limit.

More fists and Bruce was close to passing out when the door opened again and he could’ve sworn the voice that reached his ears was a figment of his imagination. 

“Playtime’s over, kids!”

A crack and the man hit the deck first, head landing close enough to Bruce for him to see the dent in his temple and the blood oozing from his ear. The woman was next but it took several blows to get her to the ground and Bruce had to look away, unable to stomach the gore when his head was spinning and he could barely breathe. Then the figure crouched over him and Bruce tried to twist away, but hands grabbed his face and that same voice said, “Come on, get up.”

Bruce shook his head. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to.

“I know, darling, but we’ve gotta go.”

Bruce opened his eyes and a mangled cross between a laugh and a sob fell out. It wasn’t him. It wasn't - 

“Yes, I’m thrilled to see you, too, but we really must be going. The show begins in a few minutes and we really don't wanna be here for the finale.”

Show? Bruce tried to think through the haze but his side burned as he sat up. He blinked several times to clear his vision and saw Joker -  _ Joker _ . It was fucking  _ him _ \- putting a pair of sneakers on his feet, before going back to the door and peering out. He was dressed in standard cop uniform, hat over his hair and when Bruce saw the blood dripping from the baton in his hand, his stomach churned.  _ Jesus. _

But before Bruce could think any more about it, Joker was back at his side, arms coming around him to help him up.

“You’re gonna need to do better than this, sweetheart.” 

His voice was as close to urgent as it could ever be and Bruce was trying his best but it  _ hurt _ . And he’d had nothing close to decent sleep and couldn’t remember when he last ate and didn’t even know what time or day it was -

_ “Bruce _ .” Hands were holding his face again and acid green eyes looked right into his. “Get your ass off this floor or we’ll be climbing out of the rubble.”

Bruce didn’t want to know what that meant but it got him moving. Pushing past the pain yet again, he climbed to his feet and followed Joker to the door. He didn’t have a clue what Joker had set up and having to trust him blindly should’ve been a whole lot more terrifying but it was just another sign of how bad Bruce’s situation had become.

Joker closed the door and Bruce would've asked what was going on when Joker's hand went up, fingers going down one by one until…

“Showtime.” 

Joker’s grin was followed by a boom and the building shuddered. What the fuck?

But Bruce didn’t get chance to ask because as soon as they heard shouts down the hall, Joker opened the door and took his hand, gripping it tight as they went in the opposite direction, Joker unlocking another cell door and pulling them both into it as a second explosion hit.

“Where did you get  _ bombs _?” Bruce asked, leaning heavily against the wall as Joker played lookout. 

“Your kitchen,” was the reply as very distinctive cries of  _ where is he  _ came their way. So they knew Bruce was missing but how did Joker plan to get them out of here? 

He didn’t bother asking any more questions, just let Joker lead the way, in and out of rooms, ducking and diving to avoid being seen, the building falling further and further into chaos around them as explosions tore it apart. Bruce couldn’t make head nor tail of it and all the while that tight grip on his hand never let up. Bruce would’ve thought he was dreaming if the pain didn’t keep reminding him how real it all was. Joker was here, alive and saving his ass yet again and Bruce didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or do both. Right now he was focused on keeping himself upright.

He wasn’t sure if it was luck or perfect planning that let them get as far as they did but when they reached the exit to see a whole group of cops gathered outside, Bruce was sure it was over. There was no way they’d get past them without being caught and he was ready to tug Joker back to find another route when Joker pulled something out of his pocket and Bruce realised what it was far too late.

He was pushed against the wall, head tucked into Joker’s chest when the explosion went off and Bruce’s ears were ringing when he was pulled up again to see bodies scattered on the ground, some moving, others not. And there wasn't a second wasted as Joker led them out, Bruce pushed into the back seat of the nearest car when he heard the shout of an officer running towards them. Before Bruce could even yell stop, the gun was fired and the officer fell to the ground.

Joker jumped into the driver’s seat and started the car and all Bruce could do was lie there with his head in his hands, ears still ringing, body shaking and heart ready to smash its way out of his chest. He didn't try to make sense of what's just happened. He wasn't ready, not yet. He focused on the relief of not having to move anymore instead but even that was short lived when the car stopped and Joker looked over the back of the seat. 

“Gonna have to walk the rest of the way, I’m afraid.”

Bruce knew that made sense - a stolen cop car wasn't exactly inconspicuous - but the rest wanted to dig in it’s heels and refuse to go any further. Joker opened the door and grabbed his arm but when Bruce didn’t move, Joker climbed on top of him and turned his head to face him.

“When this is over you can sleep for a week but until then we’ve gotta keep moving.”

The promise of sleep - and the remaining sliver of sense screaming agreement in his head - was just about enough to make Bruce move and he was once again holding Joker’s hand, following his lead as they made their way through streets and alleys, getting further and further away from the city’s bustling centre. Bruce moved as fast as he could but had to stop several times to catch his breath and Joker used each opportunity to check his wound. His face never gave anything away but abruce knew it wasn't good, his t shirt more red now than white and he prayed their destination wasn’t much further because he didn't know how much longer he could last.

By the time they reached the Narrows, Joker had to help him walk, arm around his waist as Bruce’s arm was slung around his shoulders. It made progress even slower and there was a moment Bruce thought they’d  _ never _ make it, but eventually Joker sang “We’re here,” in a way that showed he was enjoying all of this far too much and all Bruce could say was, “Thank fuck.”

That got a giggle, a sound that, at one point, Bruce hadn’t expected to ever hear again and he looked up at the building ahead. It was a small apartment block that didn’t look as though it’d been lived in for years and he could tell some bad news was on the way by the look Joker gave him.

“Time to climb.”

Bruce followed the direction of Joker’s finger to the first storey window. Not an especially difficult task under normal circumstances but Bruce’s body was already protesting. He wasn’t sure he could do it.

“Sure you can,” Joker said. “You’re  _ Batman_!” 

Bruce didn’t feel it, not right then, but he didn’t have any other choice so let Joker go ahead and climb the stack of boxes to open the window, before shuffling forward to join him. It was every bit as difficult and painful as he thought it’d be and when his feet finally touched the floor inside, the rest of him followed until he was lying in an exhausted heap, chest heaving and head ready to explode.

Joker wasn't far behind, kneeling beside Bruce and pushing his hair back before taking his face in his hands again. Bruce closed his eyes and tried not to think about the fresh blood staining those hands. His head hurt enough already. 

“Still with me, Brucie?”

Bruce grunted something close to a yes.

“Come on, the bed's this way.”

Joker helped Bruce up a final time, leading him into the next room to the bed that was actually just a tatty old mattress lying on the floor and Joker removed Bruce's shirt before helping him lie down.

Oh, there weren't even  _ words _ . Just lying there...knowing he didn't have to move... At least, he  _ hoped _ he didn't and Bruce didn't realise he’d actually said it out loud until he got another giggle. Joker leaned over, hands in his hair again.

“No, you don't have to move. Just lie there like a good little boy and I'll stitch you back up.”

Bruce should've been more terrified by the idea of Joker having free reign of his body with a needle but he was too far gone to care. There wasn't any anaesthetic but by now Bruce was already numb from the pain so a few needle pricks weren't going to make him feel any worse and he stayed quiet and still as Joker worked, wincing when he was pulled up to sit so a bandage could be wrapped around his waist. 

“You said I didn't have to move,” Bruce mumbled, head resting on Joker’s shoulder because he didn’t have the energy to hold himself up anymore.

“Don't be ungrateful,” Joker replied, before tilting Bruce’s head back up and bringing their foreheads together.

And it was just... Bruce let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes to the feeling of fingers stroking his face, a gentle touch after all the pain, and Joker asked if he needed anything else. Bruce shook his head.

“Just…”

_ Just...stay. _

“Alright,” Joker whispered, before helping Bruce back into his shirt and laying him back down.

He was asleep in seconds.

-

Bruce didn't sleep well. If the pain didn't wake him, nightmares did and he couldn't figure out what most of them were about but he did see familiar faces. Alfred, Gordon...and Joker. He was clearest of all but that might've been fantasy mingling with reality because every time he opened his eyes, Joker was there. 

It wasn't until pale light started spilling through the gaps in the dusty old blind that Bruce finally fell into a sleep deep enough to last more than an hour and he didn't wake up again until he heard a rustle of paper bags. 

Opening eyes that felt like they were full of grit, Bruce looked through the doorway - that didn’t seem to actually have a door attached to it - to see Joker rifling through grocery bags, searching for God knows what and - wait, he’d gone shopping? He’d just broken Bruce out of prison and he’d gone fucking  _ shopping_? 

Joker was still wearing the uniform from last night, but had a familiar sweatshirt over the top, hood obscuring his hair and face, and when he finally found whatever it was he wanted, came into the bedroom to find Bruce watching him.

“Evening,” he said with a smile, kneeling down to place two bottles of drink and a packet of pills beside the mattress before helping Bruce sit up. 

Lying still for hours on end hadn’t done Bruce any favours and every part of him ached as he moved. What he wouldn’t give for some morphine. Pushing back his hood to reveal a face a whole lot more normal looking than Bruce expected, Joker opened the pills and held them out.

“Don’t panic, just painkillers,” Joker smiled again in a way that said the role reversal wasn’t lost on him.

Bruce took the pills and the bottle that was offered and swallowed them down, watching Joker do the same. He obviously wasn’t feeling his best, either, although no one would ever know it.

“You shouldn’t have gone out,” Bruce said. “They’ll be looking for us.”

“We needed supplies, darling. And I once walked into a ballroom  _ full _ of Gothamites without a single one recognising me. A half empty store is hardly gonna be a problem.”

Well, that was true. Even sitting this close, with the distinctive hair and voice, Joker looked as much the homicidal clown as Bruce did a billionaire right now, but that still didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. 

“You need to be careful,” Bruce warned him.

“It’s sweet that you care,” Joker cooed, patting Bruce's cheek before standing up. “But enough of that, it’s time to eat!”

He grabbed one of the grocery bags from the other room and tipped it upside down over the mattress, letting boxes and packets spill out. Cakes, sandwiches, sweets, none of it seemed healthy but it was full of the calories Bruce needed and his stomach growled in approval. Joker laughed and invited Bruce to dig in before disappearing to what Bruce assumed was the bathroom when he heard running water.

He went for the sandwich first and was almost finished when Joker returned, face white once again and he settled beside Bruce to grab the other sandwich. But one bite and his face screwed up like he’d just sucked an entire lemon and he spat it out, throwing the rest of the sandwich onto the floor to grab a packet of sweets instead.

Bruce didn’t bother commenting on the waste of food and asked, “How'd you pay for all this?” 

“With some cash I had saved for a rainy day,” Joker replied, pouring sweets into his hand before tipping his head back and shoving the lot into his mouth.

Bruce might've asked where the money came from but when Joker lifted his arm and the cuff of his sleeve rolled back, he saw nasty red marks around his wrist and pulled it closer for a better look.

“So that’s how you got out,” he said quietly, carefully brushing the bruise on Joker’s thumb.

“You didn’t leave the keys,” Joker replied and there wasn’t any blame in his voice but Bruce still felt it anyway. He’d pretty much abandoned Joker to go and do something really fucking stupid, no plan for what’d happen if he didn’t come back. And a chorus of Alfred's warning in the hospital rang in his head, followed by a verse of  _ I told you so_ in a voice suspiciously close to Joker's and Bruce had no choice but to accept it. He should’ve taken the safer option and waited instead of running in blind but he hadn't been at his best, thrown off by worry and impatience. 

He held out his other hand and Joker turned to face him, offering the second wrist. It was the same, with scratches and cuts and bruising on the thumb and Bruce felt the urge to...well, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do and couldn’t apologise because, like before, he knew Joker wouldn’t want to hear it. Apologies didn’t change anything, so Bruce, still holding onto Joker’s wrists, rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Oh, now that was quite a sigh, darling,” Joker said and Bruce could feel him fidgeting but he didn’t pull his wrists away. “Share with the class.”

Bruce shrugged. “I fucked up.” Understatement if ever there was one.

“Yes you did, spectacularly so. But it’s alright. I got to play the hero again and, y’know, I’m really starting to see why you do it. It’s a  _ lot _ of fun.”

Bruce opened his eyes and looked at him. Hero wasn't the word he would use. Heroes didn't club people - No. No, not yet. 

“Well, I won’t be doing it anymore,” Bruce said. “Batman’s gone. It’s over.”

Joker slipped one hand out of Bruce’s grip and started playing with his hair again. If he could just keep doing that... 

“No, Batman isn’t gone, just suffering a minor set back. It's gonna take more than this to keep him down.”

Bruce didn’t agree but there was no point arguing, not when Joker sounded so sure about it.

Joker’s thumb went down to the blood around Bruce’s mouth and chin that Bruce had forgotten was even there and he climbed off the mattress to go to the bathroom, returning with a damp cloth. Bruce had his hand out ready but Joker ignored it, wiping the blood away himself and for a while they were quiet as Bruce closed his eyes again.

It would've been very easy to give into self-pity. Bruce was a tired, broken mess hiding away in an abandoned apartment, feeling powerless against the seemingly impossible task he had ahead of him. And for just the briefest moment, he thought about giving up. But all it took was the thought of what’d happen if he did, all the people that would die if he stopped fighting and the moment passed. He couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Joker chuckled, sensing the shift in mood. “See? On his way back already.”

Bruce managed an almost-smile and sighed. “And trying to think of what the hell to do next.”

Joker tilted Bruce’s head to wipe under his jaw. “Well, first you need to get better. There’s no rush, they’re not gonna find us here. And  _ then  _ I’m sure you’ve got all sorts of little schemes already in place for something like this.”

Yes, he did. But he hadn't expected to be using them just yet and definitely not under these circumstances. 

“And while you’re doing that,” Joker continued. “ _ I _ am gonna have a little chat with a friend of mine. We're gonna need some new I.Ds. Can't exactly go around as Bruce Wayne anymore can you? You’re gonna need a whole new identity after this is finished.”

Bruce looked at him blankly for a second. Why? He didn't plan on running away. There'd be too many people after him, not just the authorities but every person Batman had ever put away. All of them would want his head on a spike and, even if they didn't, Bruce still had crimes to answer for. A lot of them. He couldn't wax lyrical about justice if he didn't abide by it himself. 

“Don’t even think about it,” Joker said, holding Bruce’s chin, voice suddenly as sharp as the nails digging into his skin. “I didn’t drag your ass halfway across Gotham just to let you hand it back to them.”

Bruce wanted to argue, tell Joker it wasn't up to him, but knew it wouldn't do any good. And he knew exactly what Joker would end up doing if Bruce did hand himself in. If he thought what happened yesterday was bad... 

Joker released his chin, the anger slipping away as quickly as it'd come and started running the cloth under Bruce's nose. “And think of all the fun we’ll have, the places we’ll go, things we’ll do. Like one lifelong road trip. I’m rather excited myself.”

Of course he was. And Joker’s face right then would’ve been endearing if Bruce didn't refuse to use that description for him.

“I mean, the life of a fugitive isn’t exactly new to me, but this is on a whole new level.”

“You’re not supposed to  _ enjoy _ it,” Bruce reminded him. “There’ll be all sorts of people hunting us.”

“Of course.”

“We won’t be able to stay anywhere long.”

“I've always been an avid traveller.”

Bruce paused for a moment, looking Joker in the eye for a long time. “It'll be dangerous."

Joker leaned closer, eyes glistening, this particular smile one Bruce had always found irresistible. "I know."

And Bruce had to give in, his lips begging to the mirror that smile. He didn't quite match it, nobody could ever stretch their mouth the way Joker did, but still, it was a smile when Bruce had very little to smile about. And the assumption Joker had made that he'd be tagging along and the fact he'd already started making plans for it warmed Bruce in a way he couldn’t quite describe. He tried to imagine it, the pair of them, like some kind of fucked up Bonnie and Clyde and it was alarmingly easy to do. But...Bruce couldn't quite let himself believe it, that Joker would give up everything just to follow him around the world. It was too...well, there wasn't space in his head to absorb it just yet. 

“You could stay,” Bruce said, trying to sound casual, although his heartrate was anything but. "Finally have Gotham all to yourself. There's nothing to stop you, _I_ can't stop you."

“I could,” Joker agreed, but he didn’t sound very enthusiastic. “But what's the point? Just because the circumstances have changed, doesn't mean the rules have. It's still you and me, start to finish,  _ every _ step of the way.”

Bruce's heart sank at the reminder of yet another thing he'd managed to fuck up completely and he ducked his head, which suddenly felt a whole lot heavier.

“Joker…” Bruce paused, not really sure how to say it and wishing he didn't have to. “I can’t help you. Not anymore.”

Joker gently pinched Bruce’s cheek. “Oh, darling, you never could.”

It wasn’t something Bruce wanted to hear but he knew it was true, there was a blood stained baton in the next room to confirm it.

“So, it’s probably a good job we both know that isn’t why you offered, hmm?”

There wasn’t really anything Bruce could say to that, so didn’t bother even trying. He did, however, decide that Joker looked far too fucking smug and all-knowing for his liking, so grabbed the front of the sweatshirt in his fist and finally pulled Joker in for a kiss that felt long overdue.

It was only a step beyond where they'd gone before, lips pressing softly together, but it was a kiss and the final step over a line they’d often hovered near but never quite crossed. And Bruce didn't even think as his lips started to move, Joker’s following, drawing both of them further in as all the excuses Bruce’d had for holding back didn’t seem quite so important anymore. 

And as he pulled Joker into his lap, Bruce pushed away all thoughts of assassins and conspiracies and the life he was being forced to leave behind, wrapping his arms around him almost possessively to remind himself that even as everything else was being ripped away, this still remained, _Joker_ remained - he came back, he _came back_ \- and Bruce would do everything he could to keep him. And with Bruce's hold tightening, so did Joker’s, fingers digging in where they’d only brushed before as Bruce’s hands started running up and down Joker’s back, reaching the hem of the hoodie and slipping under to let palms rest against his skin.

Joker moaned with the touch as the kiss turned desperate, making Bruce ache in a way that had nothing to do with the pain, making him wish he could do something about it, especially with the way Joker was pressing in and moving against him, moaning into his mouth. But his bruised and battered body told him to wait. Just a little longer. 

So the kisses cooled and touches softened and everything slowed right back down and Joker ran his lips up Bruce's face to let them finish in his hair. And they stayed that way, with Bruce’s hands on Joker’s waist, head resting against his chest as he waited for it to stop spinning and tried to remember how to breathe. 

Joker's hands came to rest in Bruce's hair and Bruce wondered if he should say something, but he didn’t know what and was sure he’d only ruin the moment anyway. But then he yawned loud enough to make his jaw pop and Joker giggled before lifting his head and suggesting it might be time for bed.

Although Bruce wanted to stay right where he was, he couldn't deny that he was exhausted and Joker moved the food off the bed, before helping Bruce lie down and pulling the sheet up to their chests as he settled beside him.

And there were even more kisses, some deep, slow and long, others quick little presses until Bruce's eyes got heavy and Joker tucked his hand under Bruce's shirt to rest against his chest, fingers tapping in time with the beat of Bruce's heart, just like _that_ night. The night everything changed. 

[](http://i.imgur.com/21T6Q4U)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy 1st ANG-iversary!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, firstly sorry for the wait. This chapter took a while to figure out and I'm still not sure about it but dunno how to fix it so...but hopefully the ending should make things better ;P  
> Many thank to [altered_eagle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altered_eagle/pseuds/altered_eagle) for help with the medical side o thangs <333
> 
> Whimsicalprinceofcrime on tumblr did[this wonderful picture for the last chapter](https://78.media.tumblr.com/2a9f3b1c283d97591f801cf93ed4d850/tumblr_ov0bysBDMf1wn1oppo1_500.png)! Thank so much, friend :))))
> 
> (Fun fact:there's a scene in this chapter kinda inspired by an Alex Ross Batman painting. Cookies to anyone who gets it.)

Bruce woke with a jolt. Like coming out of one of those dreams where he hurtled to the ground but never quite hit it. Except that hadn't been the dream this time around, it’d been a whole lot worse and he rubbed a hand over his eyes to try and dispel the last of the images that’d followed him into wakefulness.

In his peripheral vision, Bruce saw something come towards him and his hand shot up reflexively, gripping tight as he waited for his sight to clear enough to identify it. His fingertips were ahead of him, though, feeling cool skin and the shape of bone that seemed far too close to the surface underneath and, eventually, his eyes focused enough to see a familiar face looking right back at him.

“Only me,” Joker sang in a whisper and anyone else probably would've closed their eyes, begging the nightmares to take them away again, but Bruce kept his eyes fixed on him, using the familiarity to ground himself as he brought Joker’s hand to his chest and placed his own on top, taking in the green and white as he waited for his heart to slow down. 

It took time, Bruce's heart and head fighting it all the way but he pushed through, making himself take in every little detail of that green gaze, all the different shades swirling together in the irises, flecks of yellow speckled around pupils that couldn't decide what size they should be, framed by long white lashes and purple shadows that made the green even more intense. Bruce ran his eyes along every line in the skin, the crow’s feet in the corners that were a record of every smile and as those lines creased with a new smile spreading across Joker’s lips, Bruce was finally able to breathe again. Calmed by the Joker. Probably not a good sign.

Joker started to run his thumb along the line of Bruce's nose and Bruce leaned into the touch, gently squeezing the hand resting on his chest before it slid up to cup his face, eyes coming even closer as their foreheads met. Bruce slid an arm around Joker’s waist without thinking to press their bodies together, feeling Joker’s leg slide in between his own as he slotted into place and for a long time they just laid there...looking.

This close, Bruce could see little drops of water resting on his skin and his nose finally caught the scent of soap and shampoo. He lifted the hand resting on the small of Joker’s back to play with the wet strands of hair at the nape of his neck and realised that Joker's shirt had changed colour, purple now instead of black.

It'd been what...a week...two since Joker arrived in the cave? It seemed a lot longer and suddenly seeing Joker back in his usual colour scheme…

Well, he was just glad Joker hadn't put on any lipstick.

“That must have been quite the dream,” Joker said, voice still whisper soft as his thumb slid over Bruce's mouth and chin. “Kinda jealous of whoever you were dreaming about, though. You were making some  _ very _ interesting noises.”

Bruce had to clear his throat twice to reply. “Don't be. It wasn't that kind of dream.” Thank God. He didn't fancy waking up beside Joker in  _ that  _ state. 

“Figured, since you just tried to pull my arm out.”

Bruce started rubbing Joker’s wrist in apology. In his defence, though, those hands had tried to hurt him a lot more hsn they’d tried to help.

“Never took you for a sleep talker, though,” Joker said, somehow managing to press himself even closer. When he saw the concern on Bruce's face he giggled. “Don't worry, most of it was nonsense.”

Good. Wait...most of?

“How long was I out?” Bruce asked, not awake enough to think any more on whatever might’ve come out during sleepy rambles.

Joker shrugged. “All night, as far as I know.”

“As far as you know?” 

“Well, I wasn't here the  _ whole _ time. Had to pop out for a bit, stock up on a few things.”

Like being doused with freezing cold water, Bruce suddenly felt a lot more alert. “You went out?  _ Again _ ?”

Joker pressed a finger to each of Bruce's eyebrows and pushed them up.

“Don't frown, it was  _ important _ . That side of yours ain't gonna heal itself and I can't have you going manky on me. I shoulda gotten the stuff earlier to be honest but, y’know, you look so adorable when you’re sleeping.”

It took Bruce a long minute to understand and his eyes went wide in a mixture of horror and disbelief. “You didn't -”

“Yes I did and you'll thank me for it later.”

Bruce reached up and pulled Joker’s hand away. “A fucking hospital? Do have any idea - there are cameras everywhere! They could've caught -”

Joker covered Bruce's mouth with one hand and used the other to slip Bruce's palm under his shirt and press it against the scar that ran across his stomach.

“What exactly do you think a not-so-law abiding citizen does when he's had a slice taken outta him by one of your batty-rangs, hmm? I can’t exactly rely on the good ol’ docs at Gotham General to fix me up, can I?”

Bruce tried to argue but Joker’s grip wouldn't let his lips move and he couldn't push it away because one hand was trapped underneath Joker as the other was still pressed tightly against his stomach. But the thought of being here asleep while Joker was out there, where they could've caught him. And Bruce wouldn’t have even known...

“Hey,” Joker said, releasing Bruce’s wrist and holding his face again. “I’m here, I’m fine. I've been at this a long time, darling, I know what I'm doing.”

Bruce didn't move or answer, just stared into green. Joker had a special knack for lying low, if he didn’t want to be found he wouldn’t be, but this wasn’t the GCPD they were talking about and he didn’t even have Batman to protect him anymore. If he was caught he was dead. And that thought was enough to send Bruce’s heart racing all over again.

Joker pressed their foreheads together. “You worry far too much.”

“You don’t worry enough.”

“And where’s that worry got you, huh? We can’t stay cooped up in here forever. Gotta brave the outside world eventually.”

Bruce knew that but if they were together it wouldn’t be such a problem. Being left behind was what bothered him. The waiting, not knowing…

Bruce slid his hand around Joker’s waist and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. “Just...don’t  _ disappear _ on me.”

And whether he was talking about sneaking into hospitals and trips to the store or something more he didn’t bother to clarify. There wasn’t any need.

Joker tapped Bruce’s cheek to make him open his eyes and be given another one of those looks that made his chest and stomach go tight.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Bruce wanted to believe that so much that it frightened him but he didn’t say anything else, just slid his hand up into Joker’s hair and pulled him into a kiss. Slow, deep, warm, Bruce let himself get lost in it, the ease of it, like this was something they’d done time and time again, just another morning of another day and with the way Joker kissed him back, it was easy to pretend. It soothed the tension a little, reminding him that Joker was here, he was safe and _he_ _wasn’t going away_.

Bruce pressed his fingers into Joker’s back and Joker shifted his weight, climbing on top, kissing harder as Bruce’s hands slipped down to his waist to hold him steady, and even though his body was telling him to slow down he didn’t listen. He just wanted a little more.

But when Joker’s knee squeezed his side, the kiss was broken by a curse and a loud hiss.

“Oops,” Joker said, sliding his knee away from Bruce’s waist. “Sorry, love.”

He didn’t sound very sorry though, not with that giggle and Bruce couldn’t help laughing himself, although his was more bitter. He was a fucking mess.

“I think it’s time we sorted you out,” Joker declared, sliding off his lap. “To the shower, with you.”

Bruce groaned. He wasn’t looking forward to getting up.

“C’mon, Bats, get a wiggle on. The sooner you’re clean, the sooner we can dose you up.”

“With what?” Bruce wasn’t sure how extensive Joker’s knowledge of medicine was, although he clearly knew enough to keep himself alive, and the image of him rummaging through drawers in some hospital supply closet didn’t fill him with much hope.

But when Joker leaned over his side of the mattress to retrieve bottles and packets and threw the word Cefazolin at him, Bruce was filled with a mixture of surprise and relief. And then groaned again. He’d used that plenty of times over the years and the side effects weren’t pleasant.

As if reading his mind, Joker held up a couple of the packets and smiled. “Gotcha covered.”

Bruce pulled Joker’s hands closer to read the labels. Imodium and Promethazine. So, he wouldn’t be soiling himself at least, but he was going to be out of it for a while.

“Should I ask how you know all this?”

“A lot of trial and error, my darling.”

The guilt that came from that comment left a sour taste in Bruce’s mouth because he knew he was at least partially responsible. Even if Joker had brought it in on himself.

Joker pulled his hands back and dropped the packets onto the mattress with the rest of the medication before standing up, feet braced either side of Bruce’s thighs as his fingers wiggled on the end of outstretched arms. Climbing off of the mattress was a slow, painful process that Bruce didn’t want to repeat any time soon.

“If Time magazine could see you now,” Joker giggles, hands on Bruce’s hips to guide him into the next room.

“Fuck off,” Bruce grumbled, which only made Joker laugh even more.

They got three feet into the room when Bruce’s foot knocked against something cold. He looked down and when he saw what his toes had touched went very still.

He could've ignored it. Or kicked it away. Left it for when he'd eaten, showered and downed enough drugs to feel semi-human again. But... He had to deal with it at _some _point. It might as well be now.__

____

Joker’s hold slipped as Bruce carefully leaned down to grab the baton by the handle and lift it up. The rod was still extended, covered in blood that'd dried to make the dull silver almost as dark as the handle, and the images Bruce had managed to keep at bay came flooding back, the pair beaten to the ground, dull, lifeless eyes and the thick pools of red gathering slowly beneath their cracked skulls sickeningly clear in his mind. 

__

“It was them or you,” came the quiet voice at his shoulder and Bruce turned his face to Joker. And the complete lack of remorse there didn’t surprise Bruce in the least. 

__

_ You can't fix me._

__

Bruce's grip on the handle tightened and he’d have closed his eyes if it wouldn't make the images all the more vivid. But the anger wasn't as strong as it might once have been, diluted by the sad resignation that this, just like everything else Joker had ever done, didn’t change a thing. 

__

Without saying a word, he slowly carried the baton over to the window he vaguely remembered climbing - or  _ falling _ \- through and opened it enough to drop the weapon onto the street outside. The clatter as it hit concrete and the click of the window lock closing echoed in Bruce's ears as he stepped away and took several deep breaths.

__

Turning, he saw Joker standing right where he'd left him, hands in his pockets, watching Bruce as he awaited the verdict.

__

“Where's the gun?” Bruce asked, remembering the bang as he'd laid trembling in the back seat of the patrol car.

__

“Threw it out already,” Joker said. “Figured you wouldn't want  _ that  _ lying around.”

__

Bruce nodded. A small mercy. And with another deep breath, he chewed the inside of his cheek as his eyes fell to the floor. 

__

“You know I don't like it,” he eventually said. “And that I never will.” 

__

Joker shrugged. “Don't expect you to.” 

__

And there wasn’t really any more to say. Bruce couldn't fix him. Joker didn't him to. And while this would forever be a source of contention between them, Bruce also knew this understanding was the best either of them were going to get. 

__

After a minute or two more of quiet, Bruce decided to finally close the distance. 

__

“So where’s the bathroom?” 

__

Joker didn’t reply immediately, looking long and hard into Bruce’s eyes and apparently finding whatever he was looking for as a wide grin spread across his face. He nodded to the door on his left.

__

“And don’t worry, I packed you plenty of clean clothes.”

__

Bruce looked in the direction Joker pointed, to a couple of very familiar duffel bags on the floor beside the couch.

__

“As well as a few other essentials,” Joker added, smile growing even wider. Bruce had a good idea what those essentials might be and knew at least a few of those items wouldn't have been easy to get a hold of. And remembering the marks on Joker’s wrists…

__

A lot of effort. Just for him.

__

Bruce’s eyes fell to the floor again and he tried to ignore the sudden lightheadedness. He may not have liked the means to the end but if it wasn’t for Joker, he’d be dead. And, in turn, so would millions of others. He wondered if Joker realised he’d inadvertently done something good for the city. Probably best not to bring that up, he might decide to blow up a few buildings to balance things out again.

__

“Thank you,” he said quietly, not even trying to look Joker in the eye any more.

__

Joker booped his nose. “You can thank me by no longer stinking out the apartment.”

__

Bruce snorted. Fair enough. 

__

“Holler if you need anything,” Joker called as Bruce shuffled away. “I’ve been told I give a killer head massage.”

__

“I think I can manage,” Bruce replied and he did...just about. He had to be careful with how he twisted and stretched and maybe could’ve used some help with the back but bringing Joker in here wasn’t likely to lead to anything productive. So he struggled through and by the time he was done, smelled and felt a whole lot better but was definitely ready to lie down again. God, he’d really run himself into the ground this time.

__

When he walked back into the bedroom, Joker was fiddling with the television set he didn't remember being there before, the duffel bags beside it and a set of clothes was waiting on the mattress for him. 

__

Bruce ignored the wolf whistle as he dressed, instead asking, “I don't suppose you have a phone?”

__

“Nope, but you have,” Joker said, reaching for one of the bags and rummaging through until he found what he needed. “Two, actually.”

__

Alright, so Bruce was impressed. The first phone was the one he used day to day and it was completely useless, now. Even switching it on would have the entire GCPD here in a matter of minutes. He dropped it to the floor.

__

But the other was for less legitimate dealings, one he used when didn't want to be tracked.  _ This _ one could be switched on and hopefully used to contact Lucius. But it’d also been locked away with all his other gadgets in the cave and although he was beyond grateful, it was still worrying to know Joker had been able to get his hands on it.

__

Settling onto the mattress, cursing all the way, Bruce got himself as comfortable as he could with his back up against the wall before switching on the phone and tried to think how many days it'd been since his arrest. Two, maybe? Wayne Enterprises was probably still swarming with cops and would likely stay that way for a while, so he'd have to be careful. Joker sat beside him, fiddling with the packets and loading one of the syringes as Bruce punched in a number only one other person - Alfred - knew.

__

“So you're alive.”

__

As soon as Bruce heard that voice, he wanted to end the call. That warm, familiar tone bringing with it countless memories of a life he could never go back to, belonging to a man he'd come to trust almost as much as Alfred...

__

“So far,” he eventually managed to say and was impressed by the steadiness of his own voice. “How long can you talk?”

__

“A few minutes,” Lucius said. “What do you need?”

__

“A rundown of what's going on there, first of all.”

__

“Well, the cops have been here since yesterday tearing the place apart but don't worry. Anything connecting us to Batman has already been erased. Prototypes, schematics, blueprints, they're all gone.”

__

Bruce let out a long breath but didn't relax just yet. “And the company?”

__

There was a pause that Bruce could tell wasn’t going to lead to anything good. “As badly as you’d expect.”

__

Bruce closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. They'd always known it would be, the question was if the damage was irreversible. People relied on the company and not just its employees. The company going bust would hurt a lot of people with no other means of survival.

__

“The news hit hard. Shares plummeting, resignations...all the things that tend to come when people find out the head of their company is a cape wearing vigilante.” 

__

As snarky as ever and Bruce wasn’t sure he could handle it at the moment. But then came a hint of optimism Bruce hadn't expected. “But...I think we can weather the storm. It’ll take time, of course, and a lot of work but I think we’ll eventually recover. Your company isn’t finished just yet.” 

__

Bruce winced. It wasn't his, not anymore. Nothing was. Everything he'd known for the past forty four years - his job, his home, friends, family, life - all of it was gone. 

__

Bruce turned his eyes to the back of the man humming softly beside him. Well, maybe not  _ all  _ of it.

__

“I assume you're still going after Nisson.”

__

“Absolutely,” Bruce said. “I've got the evidence, I just need to shut down their lab.”

__

“And I take it you still want me to hand the information over to Miss Vale.”

__

“Yes.”

__

“Alright. You’ll be glad to know that the docks are still secure and pretty much everything you need is there waiting for you, although you're going to have to make do with some older models, I'm afraid.”

__

“That's fine.” It’d have to be, Bruce didn't have any other choice. Not that his older equipment was bad, not all of it anyway, it just wasn’t as advanced as what he’d been using now.

__

“And Bruce...I know we weren’t able to get it last time,” Lucius said and Bruce caught the hint of regret in his voice that he wanted to tell him didn’t belong there. This wasn’t  _ his  _ fault. “But we can always try looking through Nisson’s systems again.”

__

“No, you’ve got more than enough to deal with right now and I can't risk it. I'll find another way.”

__

“Are you sure?”

__

Bruce looked over at Joker again, a plan already forming. “Yeah.”

__

“Well, in that case, Mister Wayne, I guess my work is done.”

__

There was a finality to that statement that Bruce didn't like as the truth started to really sink in. He wouldn't ever see Lucius again. It was enough to make his eyes sting but he held back the tears. They wouldn't do any good right now. He'd save them for later.

__

“Bruce,” Lucius said as the silence drew on. “You're with  _ him _ , aren't you?”

__

Bruce took his time answering. “I am.”

__

The silence that followed was almost long enough for Bruce to wonder if the call had been cut off.

__

“I...don’t know the details and I can only pray you have good reason but…is it safe?”

__

Again, Bruce didn't answer right away. His eyes went to Joker who was lying back now, hands tucked underneath his head, looking as serene and harmless as he ever could and those green eyes that'd been fixed on a point on the ceiling swivelled round to meet Bruce. And the answer came a whole lot sooner and far more easily than it should.

__

“Yes.”

__

Joker winked and smiled and Bruce wasn't sure how much of Lucius’ end of the conversation he'd heard. Probably all of it knowing him.

__

“Then just promise me you'll try to keep it that way.”

__

“I will,” he promised and knowing the call was coming to an end, said, “And Lucius...thank you...for everything.”

__

“No need to thank me, Bruce. It was an honor working with you.”

__

“More like a pain in the ass, I’m sure.”

__

“That too.”

__

And despite the heaviness settling in his chest, it was enough to pull a chuckle out of Bruce before he hung up.

__

He dropped the phone between his legs and leaned his head back against the wall. At least he got to say goodbye. Bruce wouldn't have that luxury with anyone else. And that was entirely the wrong thought to have because the stinging in his eyes got even worse, tears just a blink away from falling.

__

But he didn't cry, not properly. His eyes were wet and a tear or two managed to wrestle its way free, but it didn’t go any further. Maybe he was just too tired or maybe still not all of it had quite sunk in yet. Or maybe it was just  _ so bad _ that a breakdown wouldn't even cover it. Either way, he closed his eyes, rubbed a hand over them and waited for his breathing to even out again before running his fingers through his wet hair and letting out a very long sigh.

__

There was a gentle smack against Bruce's arm and he dropped his hand to look at Joker, who made a very alarming picture waving the syringe in his hand, a grin on his face.

__

Bruce reached for the syringe but Joker didn’t hand it over, insisting it was easier if he did it instead before helping him onto his back. Bruce was sure not to look at Joker as his sweatpants were pulled down but there was no mistaking the feel of lips pressing against his thigh after the injection.

__

“All done,” Joker said, helping Bruce back into the sweatpants before crawling up his body and giving him a quick kiss to the lips that felt just as easy and familiar as the last. “Brave boy. I'd give you a sticker but I’m all out.”

__

Then he was off the bed and disappearing into the next room before coming back with a bag of food, all the same selection as before, a sandwich once again the most nutritious thing available that Bruce dug into immediately and when he saw Joker reaching for one too, snatched it out of his hands. 

__

“You wasted it last time,” he said, ignoring the glare.

__

Joker reached for a bag of sweets instead and opened it, tipping an impossible amount into his mouth and chewing loudly right in Bruce's ear.

__

“That's disgusting,” Bruce said, gently pushing him away even as he chuckled. “And I need to talk to you.”

__

Joker finished his mouthful, sucking his fingers clean before turning his body to face him. “Ooh, this sounds important.”

__

“It is.” And Bruce made sure the chuckles and smiles were gone - from himself at least - before continuing. “You know the guy you used to hack Arkham’s files? Do you trust him.”

__

“I'd say as far as I could throw him, but…” Joker giggled. “That isn't very far. I trust him not to be a rat, though. Why?”

__

“I need to find that lab. Is he good?”

__

“The best,” Joker said without hesitation. “Puts your lot to shame. If  _ he _ can't get whatcha need, no one can.”

__

Bruce nodded. “Then I guess as soon as this-” he pointed to his side. “Is fixed, that guy is our next stop.”

__

And with a plan now in mind, all that was left was to wait.

__

-

__

The wait was excruciating. Not for the first couple of days, perhaps, as Bruce was too out of it on pain and nausea medication to do much more than sleep and if he'd ever been grateful to have Joker around, it was definitely then. But by the third day, as the antibiotics had done their work and the side effects subsided, Bruce grew more aware of time and just  _ how slowly _ it was moving. He hated having to hide away as the world condemned him and more and the danger to people’s lives grew and grew. And watching the news didn't help. Batman still claimed the headlines as it seemed everyone and their mother wanted to use him as a scapegoat for whatever was going wrong in their lives and scrambled to get in front of the camera to make sure everyone knew about it. 

__

After a while, Bruce had to stop watching. Batman was never anyone's favourite person - well, except Joker’s maybe - and he knew opinion was being swayed by his wealth and the false accusations being thrown at him, but it was still hard to hear and after yet another tirade of how Gotham was better off without him, Bruce climbed to his feet.

__

When the dizziness hit, making Bruce stumble and hit the wall, Joker came rushing in with laughter announcing his arrival and hooked his arms under Bruce's to help him back to his feet.

__

“Bruce, you silly goose!” he said, another chuckle slipping out. “If you needed a tinkle, you shoulda called.”

__

“I was trying to turn that off,” Bruce explained, nodding to the television.

__

Arms tight around his waist, Joker looked over his shoulder and spent a few minutes watching as a middle-aged woman repeated the less than complimentary sentiments of the man before her. His smile faded and when he spoke, it was in a quiet voice, humour gone.

__

“They don't deserve you, y’know.” And Joker turned his face to Bruce, locking their eyes. “They never did.”

__

_ They deserve better _ , Bruce almost said but managed to hold his tongue, letting Joker help him back onto the mattress before switching the channel. When ABBA started blaring from the speakers, Bruce almost wished he hadn't said anything.

__

“Can you at least turn it down?” he begged.

__

With several tuts and mutterings about poor music taste, Joker did.

__

-

__

After a week, Bruce was climbing the walls. Now that he could move without passing out or feeling like a ninety year old, he needed to get out, do something other than lie around, look at something other than mouldy walls and tatty furniture.

__

“Alright, Bats, we’re going out!”

__

And that sentence could have been uttered by the angels themselves for all the elation it brought. Although it was quickly chased down with a heavy shot of anxiety because the last time they'd walked the streets together they'd almost been caught. 

__

“Relax, honey,” Joker said, white skin disappearing under a layer of flesh-toned makeup. “You’ve been off the streets for a week and that get up hardly screams billionaire.” 

__

That was true. In baggy jeans, sweatshirt and baseball cap, stubble now very close to a full beard, Bruce certainly wasn't photoshoot material and in his mind that was a  _ good _ thing. Tailored suits and hair gel had always been a necessity, not a preference.

__

In much less time than Bruce imagined it possible to apply a full face of makeup, Joker stepped up to him, arms sliding around his waist in a way that was almost routine for them now and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

__

“We’re just a couple of old fags heading out for an early evening stroll.”

__

Bruce snorted, the taste of lipgloss hitting his tongue, anxiety not alleviated in any way. But, like Joker said, they couldn't hide away forever, no matter how tempting the prospect might be. They just had to be careful.

__

His eyes were everywhere as they walked the busy streets, body tight, ready to bolt at any moment and Bruce didn't realise his grip on Joker's hand had tightened until bony fingers squeezed back.

__

“If you wanna look suspicious, you're going the right way about it.”

__

Bruce took a deep breath -  _ relax, Bruce, relax  _ \- and forced himself to calm down. He’d never known grocery shopping to cause so much stress. And that's all this was. Just a quick walk to a grocery store - which Bruce would use as an opportunity to buy some decent food for a change - that Joker had done several times that week without bringing a squadron of officers to their door. There was no reason for this time to be any different and he kept telling himself that as every footstep brought them closer to the rest of the population.

__

Joker's suggestion of splitting up in the store to grab whatever they needed didn't appeal but when he insisted it'd get them out of there quicker, Bruce reluctantly agreed. He didn't like having Joker out of his sight but the sooner they got off the streets the happier he'd be.

__

Stuffing the bills Joker handed to him into the pocket of his jeans, Bruce quickly scanned the aisles, throwing whatever he needed into the basket, eyes looking up to the mirrors suspended from the ceiling regularly for any tails. At one point, Bruce thought he'd gained one, a tall guy dressed head to toe in black and he'd almost dropped the basket and dragged Joker out of there. But it was a false alarm and Bruce needed a minute to catch his breath, let his heart settle back into a steady rhythm. 

__

God, he hoped whatever Joker was buying didn't take long.

__

Turned out Joker was already finished by the time Bruce reached the self service checkout. Leaning against the wall behind him, he wiggled his fingers and stuck out his tongue, looking as calm and casual as it was possible to be and seeing him from this distance, skin only a few shades lighter than Bruce’s, in purple pants dark enough to be mistaken for black and hair hidden under the hood of Bruce’s khaki green sweatshirt, he really didn't look like the Joker anyone - including Bruce - knew. 

__

And the thought that with an enormous amount of luck, this could well be their future together was another of those that felt a little too much to fit into Bruce's head, yet it managed to warm him all the same. 

__

Joker's eyes narrowed as Bruce approached. 

__

“Well, now I've gotta know what batty thoughts put  _ that _ look on your face.”

__

“I'll tell you later,” Bruce said, hand pressing against the small of Joker's back to push him forward. 

__

The fleeting moment of distraction was gone the moment they stepped back onto the street and by the time they climbed back through the window into what Joker had started referring to as  _ their _ apartment - again, too big to fit in Bruce's head just yet - Bruce was ready to collapse from sheer relief alone.

__

Joker laughed as he pushed back his hood and dropped his bag into the kitchen counter.

__

“Maybe we shoulda gotten you some liquor. Loosen you up a bit.”

__

“I don't drink,” Bruce said automatically, pulling off his cap.

__

“You and me both, honeybun. And to think people call teetotallers boring.”

__

Now that they were safe - or as close to it as they could be - Bruce let himself smile at the remark as he dropped his bag beside Joker’s. He didn't have a clue what Joker might've bought but based on his previous shopping trips it probably involved a lot of candy.

__

“Now if you'll excuse me,” Joker said, swatting Bruce's ass as he walked past. “I'm gonna take this face off.”

__

Bruce smiled and as Joker lifted his arms to pull off his hoodie, making the shirt ride up underneath, Bruce's eyes fell to the strip of white above his waistband. And, unlike before, he didn't look away. He was allowed to look now. At least...he thought he was? Joker had certainly taken an eyeful when Bruce stepped out of the shower that morning.

__

Hearing the faucet running, Bruce pushed those thoughts aside and fed his curiosity by checking Joker’s grocery bag. As expected, it was full of bags of sweets and chocolate and drinks loaded with sugar. 

__

Shaking his head, wondering how Joker wasn’t a type one diabetic by now, Bruce walked into the bedroom to change back into the t shirt and sweatpants that he could quite happily live in for the rest of his life but he’d only gotten as far as removing the sweatshirt when he felt fingers tickle up his bare sides, making him twist and bite back a smile. Being ticklish was a discovery he really wished Joker hadn’t made.

__

“Only me,” Joker whispered with a soft chuckle as his fingers moved again, making Bruce twist even more.

__

But the tickling thankfully didn’t last long as Joker trailed his right hand round to the stitches healing on Bruce’s waist and softly ran over them, the other hand resting against the small of Bruce’s back. His cheek felt cold and damp as it pressed against Bruce’s shoulder.

__

“Looking a lot better now,” Joker said, fingers trailing absently back and forth. “But if you’re lucky you  _ might _ still get another lovely scar to join all of these.” 

__

The fingers left the stitches and slid round to Bruce’s back, both hands starting at the bottom to gradually work their way up. Joker ran them over every one of the scars littering Bruce’s skin, giving each and every one the utmost attention, touch at times so whisper soft that Bruce could barely feel it. He kept himself still, letting Joker’s fingers roam and enjoying the feel of it as the thought of some of the marks being made by those very same hands sent a shiver right the way along his spine.

__

When Joker reached his shoulder blades, his right hand stilled as his left started tracing the line of one of the deeper scars that ran from the tip right up to the nape of his neck, before running back down with his nail, pressing it in hard enough to make Bruce shudder. 

__

“I gave you this one,” he said, hot breath blowing over Bruce’s neck as his finger stopped halfway down. “First time we met. Do you remember?”

__

Bruce did and the memory of it, the searing pain of a knife slicing through the skin, mingling with Joker’s touch that alternated between teasingly soft to almost painfully sharp, made him close his eyes until Joker’s hand went still and something warm and wet replaced it. Bruce sighed softly as Joker let his tongue follow the same path, coming to his neck and pressing a soft kiss at the nape, sliding a hand into Bruce’s hair to pull his head back and run his tongue up and over the shell of his ear.

__

“You seem a lot better now,” Joker said and Bruce settled for humming a yes, distracted by the hot tracks made by Joker’s tongue. 

__

“And you're getting antsy,” he continued, sliding his left hand around Bruce’s waist to his stomach. “Maybe we should do something about it.”

__

Joker took Bruce's earlobe between his teeth and started nibbling as he movedhis hand achingly slow down Bruce’s stomach, following the line of fine dark hairs that ran along the centre, and stopped at the waistband of his jeans. And there Joker waited, fingers lightly drumming over the top button as he slid his other arm across Bruce’s chest to press their bodies flush together. He made gradual circles around Bruce’s nipple, thumb brushing over it as his mouth went back to his neck, kissing and nipping all over, and Bruce let his head fall back to rest on Joker’s shoulder. 

__

His breath caught when Joker started teasing the nipple between his fingers and began opening Bruce’s jeans. The warmth that’d begun low in Bruce’s stomach started to grow, breathing unsteady as his imagination raced ahead to all the things those fingers might do, all the things he  _ wanted  _ them to as they inched further and further down, sliding over boxers and cupping Bruce’s crotch, making him bite back a moan.

__

But Joker didn’t do anything yet. He kept his hand still as he moved the other up to Bruce’s jaw and tilted his head to the side before sinking his teeth into his neck again and, this time, the moan slipped right out of Bruce before he could even stop it. It was a sound that spurred Joker on, lips and teeth grazing the skin, the pain that came with every bite only fuelling Bruce’s arousal until he couldn’t stand it anymore and started moving his hips.

__

Joker dug his fingers hard into Bruce’s jaw, making him hiss as they caught the healing bruises and ran his tongue all the way back up to his ear before finally moving his palm, slowly, sliding it down, fingers curling and squeezing before moving back up to give Bruce some, if not all, of the relief he needed. And he repeated the motion over and over, pulling out quiet gasps and soft little moans, the sway of Bruce’s hips falling in time until, desperate for more friction, he slipped his hand down his pants and wrapped it around Joker’s to tighten the grip, make it move faster.

__

Whispering something about the virtue of patience, Joker started grinding up against him, the growing erection that pressed into Bruce just as desperate for relief as he bit his neck harder than before, fingers on Bruce’s jaw threatening to make new bruises of their own. And all Bruce could do was stand there thrusting and panting until Joker growled into his ear, releasing his jaw and pulling his hand out of Bruce’s pants to spin him round and push him onto the bed.

__

Pain shot up Bruce's side but it didn't register for long because Joker was on top of him, kissing hard. And Bruce took it all as he slid his hands up Joker’s body to feel his back bend as he moved, reaching for the buttons of his shirt and tearing them open to reveal the white skin underneath. He ran his hands all over just as Joker had done to him, until Joker gasped, “W-wait-”

It fell out as a whine as Bruce was tugging down Joker’s zipper and he scrambled off the mattress before Bruce could say a word, running into the other room to leave Bruce wondering what the hell was going on. After a couple of minutes, he started to worry and sat up, ready to follow until Joker returned, items in hand that would’ve gotten a hell of a lot more attention if Bruce’s gaze hadn’t immediately zeroed in on his mouth.

He’d put on lipstick. Oh shit. 

__

For a full second, Bruce forgot what breathing was as he took Joker in, shirt open, pants undone, lips that unmistakable red. But it didn’t look _quite_ right because as the rest of Joker was a mess, the lipstick was immaculate. It didn’t fit. Bruce wanted to fix it. 

__

Beckoning Joker closer, Bruce dipped his fingers into his waistband to tug him into his lap before pressing his thumb to Joker’s lips and, in one smooth motion, smeared the lipstick across his cheek. That alone made enough of an impact but Bruce wasn’t done and brought both thumbs up this time, smearing red everywhere until it finally matched the rest of him. And when he took the stained mouth with his in a kiss that was more teeth than tongue, biting hard on his bottom lip, Joker laughed.

__

“I  _ knew  _ you’d like it!”

And then they were kissing again and their hands were everywhere and, unable to wait any longer, Bruce rolled them over until Joker was on his back, a shot of pain up his side reminding him not to get ahead of himself. And they kept kissing and touching and kissing, kissing, kissing until Bruce started running his lips down Joker’s body, red smudges marking the path he took over chest and ribs and stomach until finally stopping at Joker’s hips.

Pulling down pants and underwear, leaving Joker in nothing but his shirt, Bruce’s lips retraced their path all the way back up Joker’s leg to bite hard his inner thigh, rewarding him with a moan as he reached for the lube. 

Joker’s sigh was soft as the first finger went in but he quickly got louder when more followed, gasping and lifting his hips as Bruce pushed in as far as he could go. And the kisses didn’t stop - Bruce couldn’t have kept his lips away even if he wanted to - circling Joker’s navel as Joker slid his fingers into Bruce’s hair and dragged them over his scalp. 

Bruce groaned at the sensation and the grip turned painfully tight when he wrapped his hand around the base of Joker’s cock before running his tongue along its entire length. Circling the tip slowly, he listened to Joker grow more and more desperate until Joker brought his fist down hard onto the bed, demanding Bruce “Stop fucking around and get the hell on with it!” 

It might’ve been tempting to make Joker suffer but Bruce was reaching that point of desperation himself. He wanted to see Joker unravel and be the one to make him do it. And it may have been a long time since Bruce last did this but he didn’t let it deter him, just closed his lips around Joker’s cock and started to suck. 

Joker’s reaction was everything Bruce had hoped it’d be and more. He seemed to melt underneath Bruce completely, gasping and moaning and rolling his hips to fuck Bruce’s fingers and mouth until he came, one hand gripping the sheets as the other pulled Bruce’s hair hard enough to tear some of it out.

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut against the sting and let his hand take over from his mouth to guide Joker through the last of his orgasm. And then he took a moment to breathe, watching the muscles of Joker’s stomach quiver as Joker did the same, before Bruce wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and climbed up to eye level. 

Joker slowly opened his eyes, mouth spreading into a lazy grin. 

“Hmmm, you’ve done that before,” he said, pulling Bruce down for a kiss before sliding his hands down Bruce’s body and into his jeans. “But I think this guy’s feeling a little left out.” 

Bruce didn’t say a word, just kissed Joker again as his pants were pushed down and the condom was rolled on. And the moment he slid himself inside, everything he’d felt during their first kiss returned, magnified until it became a haze of heat and pleasure. Of the feeling of Joker moving underneath him. Of fingers digging hard into his shoulder and breath hot against his neck and the shot of pain that came with every thrust of his hips. All of it pushing Bruce to the edge and over so hard he was left seeing white, panting into Joker’s mouth as Joker followed, both of them riding it out until the last of Bruce’s strength finally left him and he collapsed into Joker’s arms. 

Shudders ran up and down Bruce’s body as he tucked his face into the crook of Joker’s neck, his head spinning and heart pounding as everything finally caught up with him. He’d just had sex with Joker. He had just...had sex...with _the Joker_. But before the thought of that could overwhelm him, Joker spoke in a voice that was quiet but surprisingly sharp. “Yknow...it took us a fucking long time to get round to doing that.” 

He sounded so offended by the fact that Bruce couldn’t help laughing. And kept laughing, to the point that Joker soon joined in and the pair of them were left giggling like children. 

“Was it worth the wait?” Bruce asked when the laughter finally started to subside. His eyes were watering and his cheeks were beginning to ache.

“Absolutely,” Joker smiled back and, as Bruce slid out and rolled onto his back, moved in for kisses that didn’t stop until the chill in the room got a little too sharp. But they resumed as soon as they were both tucked into the sheets and there was a point where Bruce wondered if he’d ever be able to make himself stop. 

“I love you, y’know.”

The words weren’t new by any means but they were usually followed by a knife to the leg or something equally vicious, so to have Joker say it like this made a nice change. And with Joker warm and naked in his arms, and still coming back down to Earth, Bruce was tempted to say it back. He’d never actually put a name to what he felt for Joker, never found one to fit, but if he had to choose it’d probably be the closest. And with things as they were right now, he didn’t think there was a whole lot left to lose if he finally said it. 

But Joker’s hand covered his mouth before he could.

“Not yet,” Joker said. 

Bruce frowned, confused. 

“I want you to _mean _it, darling, not just throw it out there in a fit of pessimism. So save it...for when we finally get outta Gotham, hmm? It can be like, I dunno, marking a new beginning or something.”__

____

Bruce considered and was tempted to argue but with Joker looking at him  _ like that _ , eyes gleaming in the dark, lips resting in an almost-smile, he knew there wasn’t any point. Joker wanted him to wait. So he would. 

Closing his eyes, Bruce wrapped his arms tighter around Joker, taking in a long, deep breath and said,

__

__

__

“Alright.”

__

__

__

[](http://i.imgur.com/O1Jf84R)

__

__

__


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first, how the fuck did five months go so quickly?!?!!!! I am apology. Second, ANG art woooo! Theres [**this gorgeous gem**](https://angsty-eddie.tumblr.com/post/166561703457/hoodie-husbands-i-read-a-new-game-today-by) of the hoodie husbands from Chapter 9 by angsti-firefli, and [**this!!!**](https://imasqueradeasmyself.tumblr.com/post/166514193238/fan-art-for-chapter-14-in-ang-by-mellie-art) from chapter 14 by imasqueradeasmyself, aaaaaand some gorgeous [**Cop Joker**](https://jokerbi.tumblr.com/post/170865295299/melamungous-hey-new-game-is-still-beautiful) by jokerbi. Thank you all so so much!! Also, I had a review on the last chapter that was so wonderful I just had to doodle it, which you can see [**here**](https://mellie-art.tumblr.com/post/166408560979/more-inktober-doodles-including-some-ang).
> 
> And this fic has been translated into Russian, which is extremely amazing and if you fancy having a ganders, there’s a link at the bottom :D
> 
> (my knowledge of computer hacking is minus fuck all so please ignore any glaring errors)

“I gotta be honest, Bri, the nerd might take a little convincing.”

It took a minute to understand what the hell Joker was saying, the words squeezed out as they were around the lollipop in his mouth. And when he did, paying particular attention to the name Joker had used, Bruce rolled his eyes and refused to respond. He was all for adopting aliases for safety but, whatever name Bruce chose for himself, it wasn’t going to be  _ Brian _ .

“He was jumpy enough about the Arkham files and what with us being a coupla hot little potatoes right now, he might just decide we’re not worth the trouble.”

“Well, I’m sure you can persuade him,” Bruce eventually replied, adjusting the strap of the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. And, remembering that Joker’s brand of persuasion often ended badly for those on the receiving end of it, added, “And I mean  _ verbally _ .”

He got a long and exasperated groan in return and Joker pulled the lollipop out of his mouth to waggle it in front of Bruce’s face.

“Must you ruin  _ all  _ of my fun?” Joker demanded.

Bruce pushed the hand away. “That kind of fun, yes.” 

“But it’ll be much quicker and easier my way.”

“And a whole lot more difficult for  _ him _ , I imagine.”

Joker snorted. “He doesn’t need his  _ toes _ to -”

“ _ No _ ,” Bruce said, eyes hardening. “Bribe him, threaten if you must but no maiming and absolutely  _ no killing _ . Not this time.”

Joker narrowed his eyes ever so slightly and Bruce matched his gaze, refusing to back down. He may’ve been resigned to the fact that he couldn’t stop Joker completely but he sure as hell wasn’t giving him free reign.

The stalemate didn’t last long though, Joker breaking it with a grin that seemed to say  _ we’ll see _ , before stuffing the lollipop back into his mouth and fiddling with the strap of his own bag. They’d stolen a car to drive most of the way to the docks but abandoned it a few blocks back to avoid drawing any attention to their new hiding spot, and now that they were almost there, Bruce couldn’t wait to dump the bags and sit down. He’d only gotten a couple of hours’ sleep, wanting to get moving before daylight hit and his body definitely wasn’t thanking him for it.

“So,  _ Brian,  _ when should I make the call?” Joker asked and Bruce once again refused to acknowledge the name.

“Don’t. Giving him warning isn’t a good idea. You said he isn’t a rat but I don’t want to run the risk of him proving you wrong.”

Joker pressed his hands to his chest and gasped. “He wouldn’t do that to  _ me.  _ We’re buddies!”

Bruce gave him a look. “You were ready to cut off his feet a few minutes ago.”

Joker shrugged and leaned in. “What’s a few limbs between friends?”

“Not much, apparently,” Bruce muttered and ignored the laughter that followed as the docks came into view.

As they weaved through the shipping containers, heading for one located near the back, Joker didn’t look too impressed.

“Gotta admit I was expecting more.”

Unlocking the chain, Bruce opened the doors and stepped aside to let Joker enter first, who spread his arms out wide and moved in a slow circle to emphasise just how small the space was. Reaching for the lever beside the door, Bruce tried not to grin too widely at Joker’s stumble when the floor started to descend. 

It wasn’t until it neared the bottom, when the warehouse lights came on and a full view of the second “cave” was revealed, that Joker finally offered a soft whistle of appreciation - although Bruce couldn’t quite bring himself to agree. This place, while adequate, was nothing like the cave and as soon as the thought entered his head, he really wished it hadn’t. 

_ The cave is gone. Get over it. _

Maybe afterwards, if they made it through alive, Bruce could make an inventory of every single thing he’d lost and find some quiet little corner to sob to his heart’s content, but until then he had to focus.

Dropping his bag, Bruce went straight to the desk at the far end, flipping switches and praying to God everything worked. Not that he didn’t trust Lucius but still...he wouldn’t be happy until he saw for himself. He watched as machinery started to hum and the screens all flickered to life, a short and very familiar electronic melody signalling the system’s boot-up. It’d been a good couple of years since he last used this equipment and Bruce decided he might as well see what else Lucius had left for him while he waited. 

Joker was already ahead of him, the few doors and drawers that didn’t rely on electronic power to work open to signpost his route, but he was already bored by the time Bruce caught up with him, having realised that all the fun stuff was locked away until further notice.

“How long since you last came down here?” he asked, swiping a finger across the lip of the drawer and holding it up. 

“A while,” Bruce replied, deciding to distract himself from the niggling irritation by grabbing Joker’s finger and wiping off the dust. Why it should suddenly bother him so much he wasn’t sure, he’d known this was coming for the past week, but…well, most of the week had been spent in a painkiller-induced haze so perhaps now it was really starting to sink in. This was it. This was what was left and once  _ this  _ was gone...

“It’s more for storage than anything,” Bruce continued, hoping the system didn’t take too long to start. He’d have something to actually do then. “I only ever used this place if I couldn’t get to the cave.”

Joker snorted softly, letting his finger rest in Bruce’s hand even after the dust was gone. “I can’t tell you how delightful it is to know the Batman uses an actual cave full of actual bats as his actual headquarters. Never knowingly half-assed are you, hmm?”

Bruce let a small smile rest on his lips. What other way was there?

Joker stepped closer, free hand going around Bruce’s waist before sliding down to pinch his backside. “One of the many, many things I’ve always loved about you.”

He offered a kiss that Bruce returned until a soft electronic shrill pulled their attention to the desk. The system was ready to go. Bruce took the chair, immediately beginning his checks while Joker perched on the desk, but the clown was gone in an instant when lights on the sealed draws and doors began to switch on one by one. 

Bruce immediately made sure any containing explosives were only accessible to himself - which led to a string of childish whines - before continuing his checks and soon lost himself in the task despite another wave of irrational frustration at having to view it all on screens much smaller than he was used to. When he heard the squeak of wheels against the floor, followed by a gasp of delight, Bruce knew Joker had found his stash of old suits. And when a squeal loud enough to burst eardrums bounced off the walls, his heart sank...because that meant -

“ _ Bat nipples?! _ ”

Yeah. 

Bruce still hadn’t forgiven Lucius for that. A stupid prank that’d come at the expense of Bruce’s wallet and dignity. Lucius had fed him some crap about how they were a necessary element for the new chestplate design and Bruce - God help him - had actually believed him, right up until he’d put the damn thing on and Lucius’ renowned poker face had finally cracked. And now Joker had found it and was filling the warehouse with cackles that left Bruce grateful for the existence of soundproofing.

“Oh, Batsy darling sweetie honey-pie baby-cakes snugglemuffin love, why am I only just discovering the existence of these  _ now _ ?” 

Bruce stayed silent, running his hands through his hair as an endless stream of appreciation spewed out of Joker’s mouth - “These are the pinnacle of design, really, they belong in a museum!” - and he almost wished he’d let Joker rifle through the explosives instead. 

“Honey,” Joker eventually said, voice dropping into a warm silky tone, the kind Bruce knew very well and was thankfully immune to.

Bruce lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. “No.”

“Oh, c’mon!” There was that whine again. “Please? I guarantee if you gimme a glimpse of you in this, I’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”

“Yes you will.”

Joker’s expression became pained, as if he desperately wanted to disagree but couldn’t quite bring himself to. “Okay, fine! But I’d promise not to hurt the nerd...or limit myself to maybe the baby toes?”

Joker wiggled his pinkie fingers as he approached and Bruce’s answer didn’t change.

“Alright, one toe,” he offered, kicking Bruce’s chair around to sit in his lap. Another no. 

“Half?” Joker wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck. “ _ Please _ ?”

Bruce shook his head and tried very hard to resist the smile tugging at his lips but Joker was pairing puppy dog eyes with a ridiculous pout and the fight was soon lost. But that didn’t mean Bruce was going to give Joker what he wanted. He couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to.

“Beg all you want, it doesn’t fit me now, anyway.”

Joker’s face fell and he groaned. “Ugh, Captain Buzzkill is reporting for duty!” He pressed their foreheads together, palms squishing Bruce’s cheeks. “You’re even more grumpy when you’re tired. We should fix that. This place come with a bed?”

Bruce had to think and his smile turned apologetic. “Not a proper one. There’s a blow up mattress somewhere...I think.”

Bruce patted Joker’s waist as a signal to move and it took a little digging around but he eventually found it, along with the foot pump to blow it up. Joker, of course, offered to do that part, deciding it would be a great time to show off some dance moves while Bruce hunted down something that’d serve as bedding. The mattress was an addition that only came about after Alfred discovered Bruce had occasionally been sleeping here in - 

Bruce immediately pushed the memory aside. He didn’t want to think about Alfred right now.

“There!” Joker declared, before jumping onto the bed. “Ooh, not bad! I dare say it’s even better than my own.”

Hardly a great feat given how old and ratty that mattress had been. 

The hunt for bedding hadn’t gone so well, leaving Bruce to improvise with a few of the capes from the old suits but, from the look on Joker’s face, that didn’t appear to be a problem. In fact, Joker was beaming as he wrapped the first cape tight around himself, scooting aside to give Bruce space to join him.

Bruce walked over to the desk to switch off the harsh overhead lighting, leaving the soft bluish glow of the computer screens to provide illumination before rolling one cape up as a pillow and draping the others over them both as he laid down. On the comfort front it left a lot to be desired but wasn’t any worse than the bed Bruce’d slept on for the past week and, honestly, he was tired enough that even the bare floor would’ve done.

“Don’t be a stranger, Bats.”

Bruce hadn’t realised his eyes were closing until Joker spoke, and opened them to see the cape and Joker’s arms open in invitation. Bruce scooted closer and, as Joker rearranged the capes around them, closed his eyes again and immediately fell asleep.

-

Two fully dressed grown men sleeping together in a chilly warehouse had been an excellent idea at the time, but when Bruce woke the heat was stifling and, after a few minutes of struggle, he managed to push down the sheets - sheets? No...capes? - far enough to let in some much needed air. 

And fully intended to drift back off again until singing began and fingers tickled the back of his neck.

“ _ Wake up, little Brucie, wake up! _ ”

Bruce just grunted, already halfway under sleep’s sway, but there was a giggle and then he felt a tongue slide into his ear. 

“Ugh!” Bruce pushed Joker away and cleaned out his ear before rolling onto his front to climb tiredly to his feet. He trudged over to the desk and tapped a random button on the keyboard to reveal the time. Two pm. So, they - or at least Bruce - had gotten...what...nine or ten hours? It didn’t feel like it. He’d be quite happy to lay down on the blow up bed again and have another ten at least. 

Rubbing the back of his neck and stretching it out, Bruce turned to Joker.

“Did you sleep?”

Joker shrugged. “Here and there.”

“You stay in bed the whole time?” Judging by the positions they’d woken up in, it didn’t seem as if the pair had moved all that much but that was a long time to lie around doing nothing - especially for Joker - and Bruce dreaded to think what he might’ve gotten up to to pass the time.

“Of course! Far too warm and cosy to get out. You’re like an industrial heater, y’know.”

Joker stepped up behind Bruce and slid his arms around his waist. It’d been about a week since their first ever kiss and Joker had always been handsy, even before they became whatever the hell it was they were now, but it’d already stopped feeling novel for Bruce to let lean into Joker’s touches rather than bat him away. Now it just seemed normal, which undoubtedly should’ve been a bad thing but, well, didn’t really matter anymore, did it?

With a loud and tired sigh, Bruce forced himself to focus on the evening ahead: visiting Joker’s “friend”, hopefully getting at the very least a proper location for the lab and then figuring out a way to get inside the damn place and destroy every last bit of toxin they could find. Not the hardest challenge Bruce’d ever faced but it certainly wasn’t the easiest.

They didn’t plan to leave until after nine, which gave them plenty of time to eat and shower - another addition from Alfred - and, as he watched Joker paint on his “normie” face, Bruce felt the same anxiety rise as before, going out in public where anyone could spot them. They’d been lucky during the shopping trip and he didn’t trust that luck to stretch this far, too.

“Darling, stop flapping!” Joker said as he pulled up his hood, tucking damp strands of fading green underneath it.

“I’m not moving.”

“You’re overthinking, I can hear it.” Joker rapped his knuckles against his temple. “Got a damn descent of woodpeckers chip, chip, chipping away in there. Has it ever occurred to you, oh batty one, that tonight might go entirely without incident?”

Bruce offered a look that had Joker immediately holding his hands up.

“Alright, so that’s a little optimistic. But, in the words of George Michael, ya gotta have the faith, the faith, the faith. Pessimism ain’t gonna get you anywhere.”

“Since when did you become an optimist?”

Joker grinned, stepping right up to Bruce until their noses almost touched.

“If I wasn’t, I’d’ve given up on us a long time ago.”

Bruce frowned, not sure how to respond to that, but was saved the trouble of trying when Joker gave him a quick but firm kiss that said the conversation was over. 

“Now, c’mon, Bruce, time to get me some toes!”

Bruce rolled his eyes and followed.

-

It was dark, their hoods were up and they were moving quickly enough through the crowds that curious glances couldn’t linger long enough to recognise them, yet that still didn’t stop Bruce waiting for a cry of  _ “It’s them!”  _ every single time someone passed by. But it never came and by the time they reached the apartment block where Joker’s contact - still unnamed at this point -  lived, Bruce felt like skipping on the spot just to dispel some of the nervous energy. Luckily, the elevator had apparently been recommissioned as a toilet, giving them four flights of stairs to climb and Bruce felt a little better by the end.

“Hoo boy, old age is setting in! Stairs aren’t as easy as they used to be, heh.”

Bruce threw Joker a  _ keep your fucking voice down _ glare that got nothing but a nonchalant shrug in return. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, giving the utility belt concealed by his sweatshirt a comforting tap as Joker knocked on the door. 

There was no answer. Joker cupped his hands around the spy hole before putting his eye right up to it and Bruce would’ve reminded him that they only worked one way but Joker was already bending down to poke his nose through the letterbox instead, cooing, “I know you’re in there…” in a way that wouldn’t encourage a single person to open their door. 

Losing patience, Joker knocked again, much harder this time, before leaning against the door.

“You either open this door or replace it,” he said, tone showing he was quickly losing patience and it wasn’t a surprise to hear the chain quickly slide open before the door followed suit.

“Mikey!” Joker cried, face brightening immediately as he stuck his foot into the gap between the door and the frame.

Mikey - nowhere near as overweight as Joker had made him sound, with short dark curls and a face almost as white as the one hidden beneath flesh toned makeup - looked at Joker with wide eyes. “What’re you doing here? There are cops  _ everywhere _ looking for you, I can’t -”

Ignoring him completely, Joker barged his way inside and Bruce followed, ready to offer apologies, when Mikey’s face somehow managed to turn even whiter, eyes ready to drop out of their sockets.

“Oh shit...he really is with you.”

Bruce hadn’t been looked at like that for a very long time. Probably since he first became Batman in fact. If in a room with both Batman  _ and  _ Joker, people were invariably far more terrified of the clown, but apparently being led to believe Batman had actually killed people was enough to switch things around. And Bruce wasn’t above using it to his advantage, although he didn’t offer anything more than a stern look because the guy seemed ready to faint and Bruce really needed him conscious right now.

“Good grief this place is even more of a shithole than last time!”

That assessment was pretty rich coming from Joker considering his own mould-ridden apartment was hardly the stuff interior design dreams were made of and, taking a spot by the wall, Bruce watched Joker help himself to an open bag of sweets from the cluttered desk as Mikey shuffled into the room, nervous hands running through his hair.

“Look, you - you can’t be here, if you’re caught -”

“Mikey, my tubby little friend,” Joker said around a mouthful of food, walking over to the man and draping an arm around his shoulders. “Cease your babble and listen. I need you to work some of your nerdy voodoo and hack into the systems of Nisson Pharmaceuticals for me, ‘kay?”

If Bruce thought Mikey’s face had been ghost white before, it was nothing compared to now. The guy looked as though he was in the middle of a heart attack and Bruce wondered if this was really such a good idea. There had to be another way...somehow…

“What?” Mikey said, clearly trying to step out of Joker’s reach but unable to loosen his shoulder from the tight grip of those long white fingers. “I told you last time, that’s insane! You have any idea what they’ll do if they catch me?”

Joker threw the sweets onto the floor and turned to face Mikey fully, holding his face between his hands and pinching his cheeks. “Oh, Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, do you have any idea what  _ I’ll _ do to you if you don’t? Circumstances have changed, my friend, and I can’t take no for an answer this time.”

Bruce crossed his arms, wondering where the endearing Jay-Jay had gotten to, the one who’d fed Charlie nothing but honey. All Mikey was getting was pure vinegar. But it seemed to be working, the man already giving in, although he did offer one last plea that got nothing but another squeeze of the cheeks in return.

“We’ll be out of here before you know it,” Joker promised. “And, if they come sniffing, tell ‘em I forced you into it, tell ‘em what a  _ meanie _ I am! I’ll even cut off a few toes for authenticity.”

“Joker.”

Green eyes swivelled round to Bruce and their gazes locked for three very long seconds before Joker rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Fine. Maybe just a black eye...or something.”

Joker looked at Bruce again and winked before releasing Mikey and pushing him towards the desk.

“Now, chop chop, time is of the essence!”

Mikey dared to look at Bruce - though whether it was to thank him for intervening or because he expected Batman to do something even worse wasn’t clear - before doing as he was told and Bruce left his spot by the wall to move closer, trying hard to ignore the pangs of remorse already setting in. He’d only just met Mikey but already he was bringing the entire weight of Nisson, Ghost and probably even the GCPD on his back. Yet another life to add to all those Bruce had put in harm’s way. But what could he do? If he left now, who knew how long it’d take him to find the lab on his own and how many more lives would suffer because of the delay? It came down to a choice of which outcome could he live with more and, in the end, Bruce may not like it - in fact he  _ loathed _ it - but using Mikey would save a hell of a lot more people in the long run.

Joker picked up the discarded bag of sweets and continued eating as he perched on the edge of the desk, looking down at the man who, rather than switch on his computer, seemed to be packing his bags.

“I’m not doing this  _ here _ ,” Mikey explained, shoving a laptop into his rucksack before shutting it. “I wanna keep them off my back as long as possible. There’s a place a couple of blocks down - a restaurant. I know the owner. He lets me use the back room sometimes.”

Bruce didn’t like the sound of that, seemed too much like a set up to him. And it wasn’t beyond Nisson’s capabilities, Joker had come straight here from Arkham, after all. They could’ve gotten to this man early, kept him in place just in case Joker came back.

“Oh, Mikey,” Joker said, sliding off the desk and leaning down to Mikey’s eye level. His voice had dropped into a tone much closer to the one he’d used for Charlie, but there was an undercurrent of menace that made the temperature in the room drop. “You wouldn’t be trying to do anything silly now, would you? Because nothing would wound me more than this friendship of ours turning sour.”

Bruce circled round to Mikey’s right, watching for any sign of deceit, trying to gauge whether the terror was because he was being found out or simply because of who was cornering him. Honestly, it could’ve been both.

“N-no, no! I just - we can go wherever you want, just not  _ here _ . They kill people like me -  _ please _ !”

The “please” ended as a high pitched shriek when Joker lunged, pulling Mikey up to full height and bringing their faces so close that they looked as if they were going to kiss. Then Joker’s lips spread into one of those nasty smiles that Bruce had never liked, the green of his eyes seeming to darken several shades.

“If you’re lying to me…”

“I’m not, I swear!” 

Mikey looked ready to cry or mess himself or both and Bruce kept watching, assessing every reaction. He’d never be one hundred percent but...he was pretty sure Mikey was telling the truth. Of course, Bruce wouldn’t relax around the guy. Wherever they went to do this, he was going to keep a close eye on the doors and be ready to bolt.

Without breaking eye contact, Joker threw a question Bruce’s way. “Whaddaya say?”

One last look at Mikey and Bruce said, “Let’s just get this over with.”

-

The place they ended up was a nightclub - Joker’s choice. One of those grungy metalhead places that stank of cheap booze, cigarettes and sweat that the Bruce Wayne Gotham thought it knew wouldn’t have been seen dead in, that the real Bruce Wayne would’ve preferred to avoid simply for the crowds. But Joker was adamant that, in a place like this, they could easily blend in, find a dark corner to let Mikey do his thing and, with so many faces to choose from, the authorities would have a hard time picking them out if they arrived. 

The first thing Bruce did was look for the exits and came to the grand total of one, double doors behind the dance floor that led to a smoking area. As Mikey and Joker settled on the floor close by - all the tables were taken - Bruce mapped out their escape route. It was a small square garden area with a few tables and chairs, with steps that led down to the alley below. A decent enough escape route provided the alleyway wasn’t blocked off by the time it came to run.

Mikey was already going to work when Bruce returned, Joker’s mouth close to his ear to tell him exactly what they wanted and Bruce remained standing, scanning the crowds. Between the flashing lights and pumping music, it was hard to pick out faces but he was confident he’d spot the difference between a partygoer and someone coming towards them with the intent to kill. 

A sudden tug at the leg of his pants threw Bruce off balance and he braced himself with a hand against the wall, looking down to see Joker glaring up at him and beckoning him closer with a curl of his finger. Bruce crouched and Joker grabbed the front of his sweatshirt to pull him closer and yell into his ear.

“Why don’tcha just head on up to the dj booth and announce you’re a fugitive into the microphone?”

Bruce tried to reply but Joker cut him off.

“Relax! Nobody’s gonna spot us.”

Bruce wished he could share Joker’s confidence, he really did, but so many things had gone wrong and he didn’t expect the trend to change anytime soon. And while he didn’t stand up again, he still kept a watch on what he could see of the crowds, looking for feet that didn’t belong while Mikey was hard at work, the terror of earlier replaced with absolute focus.

A nudge of the arm pulled Bruce’s attention away from the crowds once again to see Mikey mouth “I’m in,” and Joker slipped his arm around his shoulders in a  _ I-knew-you-could-do-it  _ gesture that seemed to do nothing to comfort Mikey whatsoever. 

Looking at the laptop screen, Bruce couldn’t make head nor tail of what he saw but he could feel the renewed urgency in the way Mikey’s fingers flew across the keyboard, and when what Bruce could only imagine to be curses flew out of Mikey’s mouth before his focus intensified, he knew what that meant. He’d been discovered.

“Just gimme a few minutes!” Mikey shouted and Bruce could only hope they had that long. He tried calculating time and distance in his head but as he had no idea where Nisson’s people were located, soon gave up. It didn’t matter if the GCPD were a good fifteen to twenty minutes away when the assassins could, for all he knew, get here in five.

He counted down in his head and as the five minute mark neared, he turned to Mikey. Bruce’d take whatever he had, even a district, just  _ anything _ so he and Joker could get the fuck out of here. But Mikey was still lost in the task and when six and then seven minutes passed by, Bruce’s patience went too.

“Tell me you’ve got  _ something _ ,” he demanded when almost ten minutes had gone by.

“Just...”

The music stopped. 

With a soft curse Bruce stood, scanning the crowd to see if anyone was coming towards them. There was nobody so far but Bruce didn’t want to wait around so crouched back down and hissed, “Give me whatever you have!”

A flash drive was pressed into Bruce’s hand and the second the main lights came on he ran for the exit, trusting Joker to follow and hoping Mikey found a way to safety, too. He vaulted over the railings to bypass the steps completely, his side twisting painfully in protest as he landed, and Joker’s considerably lighter footfalls were right behind as they raced through the alley towards the street. They didn’t consider direction or destination, just kept moving, pushing past people and dodging cars, creating as much distance as they could between them and whoever was coming after them. 

After a few blocks, Bruce risked a glance over his shoulder. He hadn’t heard a single shout, other than curses from the people they knocked out of their way, and couldn’t see any cops or assassins hot on their tails - or anyone else for that matter. Perhaps, by some stroke of luck, they’d actually managed to get away.

Joker was right beside Bruce now, close to overtaking and, as if through some mutual agreement, both started towards the parking lot on their right. And that was when whatever luck Bruce thought they’d had vanished.

Sirens sounded up ahead and shouts came from behind and, when three gunshots fired, Bruce dove for the cover of the wall. And when he realised Joker was no longer beside him, turned to see him tumbling to the ground a few feet away, everything seemed to pause, vision narrowed down to the man now lying on the ground, red spreading out across his back.

The connection was automatic, brain rewinding through a lifetime of memories to the last time his entire world had been snatched away by lead flying from the barrel of a gun. But just as Bruce thought he might black out from the sudden squeeze on his heart, the body on the ground moved and, through a reflexive surge of adrenaline, Bruce lunged to haul Joker to his feet and drag him to the parking lot. 

It’d felt like forever but in reality only a few seconds had passed and as the heavy clatter of cop shoes approached, Bruce managed to squeeze himself and Joker out of sight between two cars. His eyes immediately flew to the blood on Joker’s back, which was nowhere near as horrific as it’d seemed moments ago and, as desperate as he was to see what the real damage was, it’d have to wait. The cops were in the parking lot now, checking through the rows of cars and, pushing Joker to take the lead, Bruce crawled close behind, glancing back every few seconds and listening carefully to the route the cops took. They knew Bruce and Joker were here, they just didn’t know where and the fugitives needed to get away before the entire area was cordoned off. 

It was slow going, Bruce and Joker trying to move as silently as they could, keeping as much distance between their path and that of the cops’ as possible, but as they reached the edge of the parking lot, their paths looked set to cross, forcing Bruce and Joker to freeze. They stayed low and, if they were lucky, the cops might’ve chosen to turn left instead of right, but luck really didn’t seem to have a lot of time for them right now because the cops were headed straight for them. 

Bruce reached for his belt to pull out a couple of smoke pellets, as well as one of the small explosives, throwing it as far as he could to his left and dropping the pellets right at the cops’ feet. Then, as if he hadn’t been shot just moments ago, Joker immediately sprang up and was already running, Bruce following close behind as a cacophony of car alarms and coughing fits heralded their escape. Once again, as they ran, their direction wasn’t all that important, they just needed to find somewhere to hide at least until the heat died down. The sirens seemed to be everywhere and who knew where the assassins were. If they could find a store that’d closed for the night or apartment or just somewhere that was dark and empty it’d do.

In the end, they came across what used to be a small clothing store that’d been shut down for quite a while by the looks of things. They went to the back to check for a door - much more discreet than breaking in the front way - and Bruce picked the lock, letting Joker enter first, before closing it behind them. 

They stepped into a cluttered storage room, with clothing and rolls of fabric strewn all over the place. Clearly the owners hadn’t bothered to clear the place out when they left. And Bruce could already see Joker just itching to start fucking around but with the red stain on the hoodie still getting bigger, he needed to get a look at that gunshot wound as soon as possible, so grabbed Joker’s arm to guide him further in.

Upstairs seemed to have been where the previous owners lived and, although bare for the most part, there was a couch in the far corner, as well as a few more items of clothing and rolls of fabric lying around. Joker sat down, Bruce settling behind to help him remove the hoodie and t shirt before taking the flashlight from his belt and pointing it at the wound. It seemed whatever luck they had on their side had been concentrated solely on Joker because the bullet had done nothing more than graze his shoulder. It was still a nasty thing to look at, blood running down Joker’s back and it’d need stitches but... _ Jesus _ , it could’ve been so much worse.

Bruce didn’t realise his hand was shaking until he saw the beam of light tremble.

Impatient to see the damage for himself, Joker looked over his shoulder at Bruce before glancing down at what he could see of his injury. 

“My arm about to drop off or what?” he asked, twisting his neck as far as he possibly could but soon gave up and left the couch to go in search of something reflective to see it with instead.

Bruce stayed where he was as Joker shuffled into the next room, which must’ve been a bathroom if the echo of Joker’s voice was anything to go by. 

“Ooh, now that’s gonna leave a  _ beautiful _ scar! Shame about your hoodie, though. That thing was fast becoming a favourite.”

Joker giggled but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to even manage a ghost of a smile because now that the chase was over and the adrenaline was wearing off, his mind was immediately taken back to that moment just outside the parking lot. The gunshot, Joker falling to the ground, the blood spreading over his back, it played in a loop over and over. They’d shot him. Tried to kill him. They’d shot him and he could’ve…

He almost…

Bruce buried his face into his hands and took a deep, deep breath. This wasn’t the first time Joker had been shot. It wasn’t even close to the first time he’d almost died but in that moment it was too similar, too too similar...and Bruce had already lost...

Joker must have sensed something was off because his rambles cut short and he came back into the room.

“Hey, now, none of that,” he said, tone firm but not unkind as he walked over to Bruce and climbed onto his lap. “Save the meltdown for when we’re back at the warehouse.”

Bruce’s hands came up to rest on Joker’s waist and, feeling something sticky and wet under the fingertips of his left hand, pulled it away to see blood. “Joker - ”

He was cut off by fingers pressing hard against his lips.

“Ah-ah. Gotta stay sharp, Brucie. Can’t have you distracted with what-ifs when we've got ninjas and the pigs to contend with, can we?”

The dismissive tone was frustrating because this was Joker’s  _ life _ and he needed to take better care of it, and Bruce tried to argue but, before he could, Joker kissed him. Again and again, every word Bruce tried to mutter cut off until he gave in and started kissing back, slowly, deeply. But as his eyes closed, the moment returned to play in that awful loop again to the point where he couldn’t stand it and had to open them.

His vision was soon flooded with green and Joker’s sigh blew hot air right into his mouth.

“Stop it,” Joker murmured against his lips before leaning back. “The bullet didn’t even go in. And you’ve done a whole lot worse to me during our tussles, y’know. Don’t remember you on the verge of a panic attack about any of them.”

That was true - much as Bruce hated it - but there was a difference. Bruce had never been trying to  _ kill _ him. And, yes, he also knew that with time and distance he’d see that he was overreacting but...right now it didn’t change the fact that if the bullet had struck just a few inches lower, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. Or any conversation ever again.

“I’m gonna punch you in the face,” Joker warned, winding his arms around Bruce’s neck. Apparently the gentle understanding he’d shown after Alfred’s accident didn’t fancy making a second appearance. “Now behave.”

And Joker kissed him again, harder this time, as if determined to use his mouth to chase the what-ifs away. And it took some time but eventually Bruce lost himself in the kiss, too, in the taste and feel of the very much alive and well Joker in his lap. 

When they broke away, both were breathing hard and Bruce’s vision was once again engulfed by green, although Joker wasn’t glaring at him this time. The heat in his eyes was for something very different. But  _ that _ would have to wait.

After cleaning up what he could of Joker’s back with cold water and one of the dresses from the lounge floor, Joker put the t shirt and hoodie back on and Bruce went to the window, scanning the street below. It was empty and there were no sirens sounding close by. Give it another hour or two and they’d make their way back to the docks.

Hearing rustling behind, Bruce turned to see Joker examining a roll of shiny, bright turquoise fabric, rubbing it between thumb and finger.

“Hmm...colour’s good but the quality is godawful! Cheap nylon crap.”

“Didn’t realise you were an expert.”

Joker looked over at Bruce and grinned. “Well, where’d you think I get my suits from? Hardly off the rack, are they? Especially these days.”

Yeah. Ever since Joker became an almost permanent fixture of the front pages, purple suits had become very much a fashion no-no. Not that they’d ever been all that popular to begin with. And it seemed impossible at first to picture Joker with a pin cushion and fabric chalk in hand, but it did soon make sense. Even if his tastes in fashion had run in a far less eccentric direction, trying to find stores that stocked anything in Joker’s size would’ve been impossible. He wasn’t built like anyone Bruce’d ever known.

“How long we got?” Joker asked, putting the roll of fabric back where he’d found it.

“I’d say give it an hour,” Bruce replied. “Then we’ll head back.”

Joker pursed his lips. “Well, dry humping on the sofa sounds good but it’s just gonna leave me frustrated so...let’s explore!”

Bruce didn’t think that was a good idea. They couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to themselves but Joker was already off downstairs, rummaging through the random assortment of clothing and fabrics. And, in the end, with nothing better to do, Bruce reluctantly decided to join him.

-

“Y’know, I say we blow the whole place sky high.”

Bruce looked up from the surgical thread he was knotting at the end of the stitches now running along Joker’s shoulder. They’d returned to the warehouse just over half an hour ago and Bruce hadn’t had his meltdown. He’d decided to put his energy into fixing Joker and looking through Mikey’s flash drive instead.

“The lab,” Joker continued when Bruce stayed quiet. “Blow it up. Get rid. No messing.”

“We can’t,” Bruce replied, reaching for the tape that’d hold the dressing in place. “There’ll be people in there.”

“ _ Bad  _ people.”

“Not necessarily.”

Joker groaned. “Look, people are gonna die whether you like it or not. Now, would you rather it was these assholes or all those precious civilians out there getting more and more barmy with every aspirin they take?”

Bruce was quiet again, finishing off the dressing, before closing up the medikit and heading back to the desk where plans to Nisson’s mysterious lab were currently displayed on the screens (Bruce’d expected nothing more than an address, so this had been a very pleasant surprise). Joker was apparently very much under the impression that they were now living a kill or be killed lifestyle and kept trying to push it but Bruce absolutely refused to buy into it. The day he resorted to that was the day he’d gladly go to mee this maker.

“I want as many of them to be held accountable as possible. Besides, there’s an antidote and I’m willing to bet it’s also in there. We need to get that to help those already poisoned.”

“Boring, boring, boring,” Joker muttered as he came to join Bruce at the desk, slipping a clean t shirt on. “Okay, but I’m gonna get to blow up  _ something _ , right?”

Bruce ran his eyes carefully over the plans. Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be time to figure out how many people were stationed where and, ideally, he would’ve liked time for reconnaissance but that wasn’t a luxury they had. They were going to have to make do with some serious improvisation.

“Well...we’re gonna need diversions.” He looked at Joker, a small smile playing at his lips. “If you’re up to it.”

Joker beamed. “Oh, babe, if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to draw attention to myself.”

Bruce turned back to the plans. “Good. Then get ready.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah,” Bruce nodded. “They know what we’ve got. If we wait they could have everything shipped out of there before we even arrive.”

His eyes turned to meet Joker’s once more, which were now radiating excitement, tongue poking out between the front teeth of a beatific grin. Bruce smiled back, letting himself feed off Joker’s energy. He was going to need it.

“We’re finishing this  _ tonight. _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bat nipples are a monstrosity. So naturally I included them. And thanks to [**Merixcil**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil) for letting me borrow Tailor J from their glorious fic [**Playing The Man**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13984749). 
> 
> The “wake up, little Brucie, wake up” line is a riff on [Wake Up Little Susie](https://youtu.be/LojqhHnmyvc) by the Everly Brothers. Just in case ya wanted to know :)
> 
> You may have noticed that there is no longer a ? for the chapter count which means that, yes, this story is close to an end and you all can take it as a promise that even though this update has been slow as hell, this story WILL be completed. I’m not abandoning it. PINKY PROMISE!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Colour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524125) by [melody1987](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melody1987/pseuds/melody1987)




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